


To Sir, with Love.

by allsovacant



Series: johnlock•actually [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Kindergarten & Pre-school, F/F, Fluff, Homophobia, Idiots in Love, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Roulette, Light Angst, M/M, Messed up timeline - if i were you i wouldn't think about it hahaha, Romance, Slice of Life, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-05-16 23:11:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 51,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14820716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allsovacant/pseuds/allsovacant
Summary: John Watson needed a job badly. So when his friend Mike Stamford offers him a job as a kindergarten class teacher, John grabs the opportunity.An opportunity that lead to meeting Sherlock Holmes, a businessman with an adorable stubborn little brother that's enrolled to his class.So John meets little brother + Sherlock meets John +obviousattraction = just an ordinary day in school. You get the picture.—Unbeta'ed for the love of mistakes.Updates willcome as you are.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bottomjohns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottomjohns/gifts), [smollsherl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smollsherl/gifts).



> The title came from the 1967 song, "To Sir, With Love" by Lulu. It was also used as the theme song of 1967 drama/teen film of the same name. 
> 
> The song was covered in the musical 2009 TV show GLEE and sung by its cast.

 

[ ](https://imgur.com/RMH1zVz)

[ ](https://imgur.com/M7Dzxu4)

••••••••

“Come on, Mike.” John pleaded. “ _Any job._ ”

John’s long-time friend Mike Stamford shifted on his chair. They were seated at a café just around the corner of Montague Street killing time after John called his friend that he has quit on his job at a nearby clinic as a receptionist. “Dear Lord, John—“Mike exclaimed. “You had a job, the fifth—for the love of—you had a job and you quit! What the hell am I supposed to do with that?!”

John cringed at Mike’s high-pitched voice and looks around. A few customers are looking at them, and with Mike’s tone, they might even look like an old couple bickering.

Five jobs and Mike really helped him before. When he was discharged from the army for being _caught in a compromising position_ with one of the males higher offs, he couldn’t even face his parents. It was also the very first time he “came out” as a bisexual to them. Ever since that heated argument and confrontation his father disowned him, hence resulting in him being an alcoholic that he almost lost his license as a doctor. That’s when Mike found him passed out in a pub and helped him get in touch with her younger sister Harry. The two helped him sort everything out, that after he regained his consciousness and regained his self-confidence back again, he promised Harry that he will live life to the fullest again. Harriet, his ever supportive younger sister and married to a beautiful woman, her college sweetheart Clara. The two were living in the States right now and very happy with their life. John was happy for them too.

John cleared his throat as he drinks his cold tea in one shot and leans towards Mike across the table. He watches as Mike’s hands clasp the mug of coffee with much force needed he fears the mug would break. He taps his friend’s hand.

“Sorry, mate.” He said.

Mike stared at him blankly, shaking his head. “John, I’ve tried my best to help you. I don’t know what kind of job you’re looking for. But I’ve often neglected my duties as a guidance counselor at Sunny March just to help you with your interviews. Greg’s going to dismiss me if I’m ever to go missing again for three days.”

Sighing John watched as Mike nods at him and finishes his mug of coffee. His friend stood up from his chair and prepares himself to leave to the door. John felt ashamed to the man for all of the help he had extended to him so he thought of thanking Mike but instead, his mouth chose to say as he called out to the door—“Any job will do, Mike! Part-time, Full-time, anytime!”  
His friend just laughs at him while shaking his head and John watches as Mike vanished through the crowd of pedestrians.

Then he decided to stand up leaving some cash on the table. If he really wanted to prove to Harry that he can live his life now unlike before. Then he really has to find a stable job. John's through the door when his phone received a text. He took it out and read.

 _Stamfy: Hey, Johnny. Actually, I’ve got a job for you._  
John grinned as he typed his reply. _Oh? I knew you couldn’t resist helping me. What kind of job?_

John is on the Tesco when his phone pinged again.  
_Stamfy: Nothing you can’t do. You can handle it well. There’s only one rule from me though._

He was on the loaf bread section when he received Mike's reply. Frowning and interested at the same time, he texted back. _Okay. I’m in. Hit me with it._

And then carrying his groceries, John was on the stairs of his flat on Sommer Street when he received Mike’s answer.

> _UNREAD MESSAGE:_  
>  _Stamfy: Great! Congratulations, John Watson! You are now accepted as a Teacher for the adorable kindergarten students of Section A at Sunny March School. Please pass you curriculum vitae, 7 AM sharp on our principal’s office this Saturday (that is tomorrow) and you can start on Monday—right away! Have fun! Ta! Wifey’s calling me!  
>  Oh. And DON’T YOU DARE QUIT JOHN. That’s my rule._

When John pulled out his phone, he was on the tenth step of the stairs across his flat’s door. And after reading Mike’s reply he missed the eleventh.

••••••••

“Please, Sherry I don’t want you to leave me here. Tell me you would not.” His little brother whined.

Sherlock sighed heavily as he put the car on parking mode at the Sunny March School’s parking lot. He looked at the rear view mirror and found a small head of black messy curls looking at him with those pleading grey eyes—his ‘adult’-hiding-on-a-five-year-old’s body that’s his little brother, Collin. A reflection of his features. And if a stranger sees them together they will definitely be mistaken as father and son.

“Collin. We've talked about this already, young man. And you promised grandmummy you would behave.”  
”I did nawt.” His brother said. “I told grandmummy nothing of the sort. You’re the one who talked to her of me going to school—I don’t WANT.”  
Sherlock cringed at the tone of his brother emphasizing the last word. It was true that he talked to their parents about it. Because Sherlock noticed the potential his brother had for academics judging to the fact that when Collin was three years old, he was able to use an abacus even if he just watched Sherlock absentmindedly fumbling about it when they came home from a business trip in China—and that Collin could name the planets of the Solar System that Sherlock found so tedious to even pay attention at.  
He shook his head and released himself from his seatbelt. “Nana Emma would be here in a little while. I told her to talk to your teacher about your early schooling. You’ll be fine. ”  
Nana Emma was also Sherlock’s nanny. She took care of him and their older brother Mycroft. A family friend, the Holmes’ Family treated Nana Emma as part of them.  
Just as his thoughts almost took him to his childhood, a knock came from his left window and he saw a smiling woman, with greying hair and bright eyes cheerfully waving at him. Smiling back, Sherlock pushed the windshield button in front of him and the window pulled down. Then he pushed the button for the door lock, off.  
“A Good Morning, my dear children!” Nana Emma beamed at them looking pleased.

Suddenly, Collin unlatched his seatbelt and stood on his feet almost missing a grab at Sherlock’s head rest. “Collin!” Sherlock shouted. His brother paid no attention of him. “Nana let’s go home!” Collin wailed. Sherlock grabbed at his brother’s little arms hugging the head rest. “Don’t start with your tantrums you little—“Sherlock started but was cut off by a firm tap on his shoulder. Nana Emma was giving him a stern look. “Now, now, young man. Your brother is just nervous. Give him a break.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned to look at his brother. He was about to snap at him again when Nana Emma leaned in and whispered to his ear.  
“I talked to his teacher dear, he’s polite—”  
“Obviously, he’s a teacher,” Sherlock replied.  
“—and he seems kind and nice,” Nana whispered back.  
Sherlock rolled his eyes again. “Of course, he had to. That’s given. He’s a teacher, he’s teaching children.” He said emphasizing on the word children, eyebrows raised. “Really Nana?”

The old lady’s face became void of emotion and Sherlock smirked. He really loved playing as the sarcastic one. But if he gives Nana a chance to talk back at him with less politeness, the sweet woman will definitely beat him on it. But instead of doing so he watched as Nana smiled at him and he can’t help but smile back. Nana knows he’s just goofing around. Although he huffed when Nana ruffled his hair and went to the other door to get Collin. He then let go of his brother and Collin surprisingly went down to meet their nanny halfway through the door.  
“I’m sure Collin will change his views about going to school.” Sherlock heard Nana say.  
“Mm. We’ll see.” He replied then added in a whisper, “Listen. Nana, I’ll be late home. Mummy and Daddy needed me to the meeting they’ll be having this afternoon.”

Their parents who are known to the business world as the respected owners of chains of hotels and resorts internationally—assigned Sherlock as the presentation manager and the one to attend business trips in behalf of them much to Sherlock's despair. Really, at the age of twenty-eight, being around other people, amidst their parents' reputation—still not his area. And not quite a job they’re giving him because they have their own secretaries. But Sherlock simply loved doing something for his parents but more in his laptop—to have an excuse and be able to browse his email, the World Wide Web and post something in his blog. And as a Chemist, he often posts about his experiments and his business trips. Other than that, his blog is a constant series of unusual blog posts—although, if the one to look really knew him, they wouldn’t be confused at all. Some posts contain a list of tobacco ashes, unsolved police cases from a public website, in which he was able to solve (another hobby of him) and a series of unpublished blog posts containing his views about the _male_ species.

He got out of the car and went to the back to retrieve Collin’s bag and lunchbox, passing it to the old lady.  
“You’ll call me when _something_ happens.” He said.  
“Of course, dear. But I trust his teacher already. I know he’ll never let something happen.” Nana smiled at him.  
Sensing he’s about to say goodbye, Collin tugged softly at the navy blue suit he’s wearing. Sherlock took Collin’s little hands and clasped them together with his. Bending down, he kissed and ruffled Collin’s hair. “You’ll be fine.” He said. Collin looked at him with his puppy eyes. “When will you be home?”  
“Will you be home when I do?” His little brother asked.  
“Of course, I will.” He said. “I’ll try not to stay much late. You know, Sherry. Sherry hates meetings. It’s—”  
“Dull.” They both said, and Collin started giggling which ended up on him giggling too.  
“Ta. See you later.”  
His brother nodded pulling off from his hands. He tugged a little more lightly at Collin’s hands again and his brother looked up at him as they shared a little smile before finally letting go.  
“That’s more I like it,” Sherlock said. He looked at Nana and found her beaming a smile at them.  
“Oh, you two.” She said almost teary eyed. He reached out a hand and thumbed the tears away on Nana’s eyes.  
“Come now, love.” Sherlock heard Nana whisper while reaching a hand to Collin. His little brother silently obliged taking Nana’s hand.

And as they turn, his little brother looked back at him and waved his free hand. Sherlock felt something in his chest and he suddenly felt like running to him to be the one to lead him through the class. But although Collin is his responsibility, he trusts Nana with his life, that he’s sure Nana will take care of Collin for him that he let the longing he’s feeling died down.

He went back inside the car and switched the radio on. He closed the door and breathe slowly as the sound of classical music blend with the cooling sensation of the air conditioner of the car. Somehow he remembered that teacher Nana was talking about. The kind, nice and polite teacher of Collin’s, and somehow, Sherlock thought, somehow he’ll trust the man if Nana says so.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day! John finally has a job and he finally meets Collin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the birthday girl Alice @smollsherl —  
> Thank you for existing. Many happy returns, love.. Thank you for always cheering me up.

John looked at himself in the mirror. He was wearing the schools’ standard black polo short-sleeve, his given name printed over a rectangular pin, over his right chest with the logo of Sunny March School at the back and cream-colored trousers. He styled his hair, a bit, the suave look, although he knew he doesn’t have to because it usually goes back to its natural look at the end of the day. And also, it depends if the children wouldn’t find his hair worthy of their royal attention and not ending up being tousled or pulled-through. Giving himself once more, a full look in the mirror, a nod at his reflection, he shrugged his black leather jacket on, then he left his flat with his cane cluttering as he limped.

Monday be damned but John Watson is ready to go to battle.

••••••••

He barely made it to the gate of Sunny March School that chilly Monday morning, before his left ankle gave up. Thanks to his cane that his landlady bought out of pity after finding him crouched on the floor of the apartment fresh from falling down, eleven steps from his rented flat on the second floor, he felt as if he’s in prosthetics. And many thanks to his dearest friend Mike Stamford and the heroic job that his friend has offered, somehow he couldn’t say ‘no’ to the faces of those students he was about to teach. Mike showed him the photos of the 2018 enrollees of Sunny March School, Section A, as he was informed that morning of Saturday when he came by to the principal’s office to pass his CV and to undergo an interview, and miraculously passing it—the section was comprised of ten little kids from upper-class families. Mr. Gregory Lestrade, the principal, the one who did the interview, handed him the lesson plan for the week along with some minor information about the likes and dislikes of the kids—asking him to have a read-through. In that way, he will be prepared when he finally starts teaching. But somehow he can’t help but sigh at the thought of teaching ten posh kids without imagining that these little angels with soft eyes and bright smiles will kick his ass someday when they’re grown-ups and turn into posh bastards.  
_Unbelievable. But not on my watch_ He thought, shaking his head. So John decided, he would try his best not to turn into a bastard himself.

••••••••

Upon entering, he limped his way to the walkway passing the security guard. The guard who’s sporting a long beard, with the name Anderson, P. L. sewed on his uniform, grinned at him. “So! You’re the new teacher then, mm?” Anderson asked him while showing a clipboard. “Hello. Yes, I am. My name is John Watson.” He said politely, confirming the name written on the clipboard that says Applicant’s List. The guard regarded him with a look, smirked at him, and then nod his cap at him. “Welcome, then!” the man greeted. John thanked the guard and moved on. He has covered almost half of the walkway when the guard called out to him, “Hey! Mr. Watson!” John turned to see the guard who’s now being joined by a colleague. “You might need another cane!” Anderson, shouted while laughing. “And bandages!” Shouts the colleague, joining Anderson for a laugh.

John straightened his posture, smirking at the security guards, and shouting back, “You might want to shave Mr. Anderson! The kids might think you’re Good Ol’ St. Nicholas!” then turning to the colleague, “Oh, and you might end up being his _elf_.” That made them shut up. Satisfied, John turned his back leaving the guards stunned.

 _Mondays_ —He thought.

••••••••

As John moved onward, he couldn’t help but marvel at the simplicity of the school while having the aura of elegance and beauty. The owners of Sunny March School definitely loves flowers, he glanced at the line of sunflowers adorning the left walkway. A butterfly sanctuary can be found beside the Greenhouse. Two gardeners are tending on the plants that he rarely sees in London, the pots are adorned by name tags that are obviously written by the children that attended the school. John smiled at the thought of the children crouched on the Bermuda grass writing the name of the plants with their crayons. As John went on, he passed the canteen, a mini theatre hall, the clinic, the restrooms, and a music room—and finally reaching the Principal’s Office. He stopped in front of the door with the wooden sign ‘Big Brother’ hanging on the front and under the sign in open and closed parenthesis, the Principal’s Office. Beside it is another door with a sign ‘Uncle Mike’s Room’ and under it are the words ‘Guidance Counselor’ in parenthesis too. John wondered if his friend was already inside. He brushed a hand on his hair and took a deep breath. He was about to knock while mentally preparing himself with a speech on hand when the door opened revealing his friend, Mike Stamford. Surprised isn’t just the word to describe the emotions that were written on his friend’s face but also… _fear?_ John grinned at the sight of Mike, and the bastard almost closed the door on his face if not his reflexes from being in the army for five years saved him. His left hand ended slamming hard on the door that made his friend cringed.

“J-John!” Mike stammered, he smiled at him, wiping his beefy hands on his forehead.  
“Mornin’ Mike! How’s my _awesome_ friend doing?” He said, smiling.  
Mike regarded him, smiling back, tugging unconsciously on the hem of his sleeves. “Mornin’ mate—umm, I thought you’d back out—because you know, the ankle—”  
“Yeah. And that was because of _your text message_ I broke a bloody ankle.” John said watching Mike’s face turning alarmed. “I already apologized didn’t I?”  
That Saturday, before facing Mr. Lestrade, he and Mike went for a tea in their usual spot bickering with one another because of what happened. He did accept Mike’s apology but he’s giddy when he tease Mike.  
“Calm down you git!” John said, straining not to laugh. “I’m totally fine now. Just a little more massage and some menthol balm. It’d be fine. I think. Still, fit to work.” He winked at his friend but cringed when he shifted his weight from one foot to another. “And you told me not—“  
“That I told you not to quit. Yea,” said Mike, cutting his speech. “In capslock letters. I know.” Mike continued.  
“So? Where are my children?” He asked, eyebrows raised.  
Mike grinned, “Shall we, Captain?” extending a hand, to the door.  
John almost lost his calm composure upon hearing the old rank that became a laughing joke between him, Mike and Harry after his rehabilitation.  
Laughing to hide the mist of anxiety forming in his chest, he played along, “Lead the way, soldier.”

••••••••

John entered Section A’s room, he couldn’t help but admire the hand painted designs all over the place. The walls are decorated with huge trees with falling leaves, and small birds are perched on its branches. The part of the wall that meets the brown carpeted floor was painted with green grasses. And when he looked up, the ceiling was a picture of a beautiful summer sky. With white puffy clouds that seemed to roll by, and the sun smiling down. See-through glass windows draped with misty white curtains gives the effect of being at ‘home’. John’s home. How he wished he could visit his mother. Being disowned by his own father never stopped his longing to his parents. John understood where their hate has come from and because John loves them. He was pulled out of reverie when Mike clapped him on his back. “One of your students has arrived, mate.” Mike whispered to him.

John turned to the closed door with anticipation, excited on who among his students he’s going to meet first. He was mentally reciting their names when the door opened revealing an old woman with a greying hair and a bright smile. She was wearing a purple Sunday dress adorned with vintage sequins.  
“Oh, good morning, gentlemen!” The woman exclaimed, waving at them. John and Mike looked at each other then returned their gaze to the woman.  
It was Mike, who answered, “Uh. Good morning, Madam. How can we help you?”  
The woman waved a hand in the air looking at them like they’d gone mad, “Oh dropped the Madam,” she said, amused. “My name is Emma Hudson. One of your students' nanny, so you can call me Nana Emma. And in a little while, you’ll have your first student.”  
Nana Emma reached out a folder to John, smiling, “I’ll have little Sherlock with me,” She added, with pride in her voice.  
Mike chuckled and John smiled back, looking down on the folder in his hands.  
She said something sounding like… “Sher… lock”? Was that it? Who in their right mind would name their child “Sherlock?”—John thought with amusement.

Clearing his throat he opened the folder and glanced at the name of his first student, before ruining first impressions with his mouth. He has to get the name right because he probably missed that one student from his list. Because as far as he’s informed, he doesn’t have a student named after a weird rockstar or a kind of sedimentary rock or even a comet. Choking back a laugh, he eyed the file silently.

_Name of student: Collin Alfred Scott-Holmes_

John bit his lower lip, the file only contains, a printed photo and the basic information about the student but not the personal ones, no parents name, siblings’ name, or even their address. John looked up to Nana Emma to ask these questions but the cheerful woman best him to it.

“I bet your curious—Teacher John,” He heard her say while glancing on the name stitched to his shirt.  
“Just, John, please. John is good.” He said.

“Okay, John. Please save your questions later, if you can. The principal would gladly present you the child’s personal information that if I may ask of you, would remain inside the premises of this school _only._ ” Nana Emma said, emphasizing the last word.

John nodded slowly and whoever this child’s parents is or his family. He wouldn’t really want to know. Suddenly, he felt threatened, and Mike’s forehead started to sweat, which the old woman noticed and made her chuckle. She then turned to John as if sensing his anxiety. Reaching out a hand, she tapped them on his. “Oh, you, poor little man. There’s nothing to worry about.” She said, smiling at them.

“Collin’s parents were famous in the business industry. They’re quite frequent on business magazines, so… they fear that it’ll affect their little one while growing-up. You know, the usual rich-heir problems. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes are an aloof couple. But they’re good people. Really, good people.” Nana Emma explained in a hurried tone.

John smiled as he ingests what Nana Emma had said. “I’m not really worried, Mrs. Hudson. And I am grateful for your explanation. I don’t think I _really_ need to know _everything_ , other than what I am informed, with the data at hand. And the things that will help me connect to the students—in that way, they wouldn’t feel afraid to trust me as a teacher—and to be able for them to be comfortable with the people they’ll be spending their time with, here in the school.”

Nana Emma gave him a long look. John swallowed as he felt his cheeks flushed.  
“I think, John. That you are going to be a good teacher.” Nana Emma said smiling at him.  
John smiled shyly, “I do hope so, Mrs. Hudson. I will do the best of what I can.” He said with a nod. His friend Mike elbowed him on his side, smirking, as he whispered. “Great start, Captain.”  
John grinned and whispering back, “Drop the rank, arse.” which made Mike chuckle.

A handshake to him and Mike, and shared smiles, Nana Emma left to fetch Collin. And the things that happened that first day was something John would never forget.

••••••••

John sighed as he slumped to his chair near the room’s door, the children are now having their break. It took him a good three weeks to get used to the crying, shouting, and the undying tantrums of the kids around him. He even thought this was more difficult than his army training before. He gazed around the room and smiled at the little faces in front of him with their nannies. These children are here eating snacks with guardians and _not_ their parents. A disadvantage of being rich. No single parent around. John noticed some of the kids' nannies throwing him shy looks. This has been going to since the term started. He offered them a little smile and ushered Leila, his assistant, to his side. Leila, a blonde haired uni student, is working part-time as a teacher assistant. She had a squirming kid snuggled on her hip, it was four-year-old Tom, son of a bank manager. John smiled at them when they are near enough. He opened his drawer and produced a cherry-flavored candy cane.

“Hey, Tom. “ John called, smiling at the kid and offering the candy in his hand. Tom looked at the candy and took it with his small hands. Leila thanked her and the two went back to Tom’s chair. Tom was a serious case before. Non-stop crying and tantrums, wanting to go home, missing his mum—the typical first day of school dilemma. But surprisingly, John was saved by the hitting and pinching from Tom by Leila, poor girl. But also, by his new little friend. Next to Tom, seated, and eating quietly all by himself, was Collin. John still remembered their first meeting three weeks ago, when Nana Emma arrived with Collin Alfred Holmes. A kid with an aristocratic nose, dark messy curls, and doe grey-eyes. He instantly knew that Collin would grow up as a charming fella. Tom had a tantrum and pulling Leila’s hair that her assistant almost quit instantly. But when Collin walked gracefully, head high, holding a candy-cane, offering it to John with the words, “’Candies make children happy.’ Sherry said. Give this to Tom so he’d be happy.”

John just blinked, his gaze flickering back and forth to the candy, to Tom, and to Collin’s face. He was even more surprised when Collin rolled his eyes, and murmured ‘Adults,’ shaking his little head, making his little cloud of curls bounce softly—John watched as Collin took one of Tom’s hands off Leila’s hair and laid the candy on that hand, after that he went back to his seat and munched on his sandwich. So from then on, John brought candy canes and other sweets for tantrum emergency. The rest of the day went normal after that incident.

He smiled at the memory, gazing back on Collin, he caught the kid looking at him and he can’t help but smile. John fought back a laugh when Collin’s grey eyes went wide, covering his face with the papers he’s been sketching at since morning. Such an adorable kid, John thought. He wondered what sketches of stick people and things he’d be bringing home today. The boy was such a sweet and thoughtful one. Never a day passed that John didn’t receive a sketch from Collin. Sometimes it was of a curly-haired boy smiling and a dog, John thought it was a self-portrait. But when he asked Collin who the boy was, he said it was his older brother. Sometimes it was of a huge house that John thought it could pass as a church but Collin said it was The Holmes’ Manor. But there are also funny sketches that Collin gives him. One was of his face, the stick man version. John didn’t even know it was him if not for the name written below. ‘Teacher John’. And then Collin would sit beside him and began drawing some more stick persons, informing him that he’s drawing the other students. Then both of them would put names above the heads.

Pulling him back to reality, he was no longer surprised that the break was over and Leila, his ever-attentive assistant was knocking lightly on his table. “Mr. Watson, the kids are going home.” He heard him say. “God, I did it again, did I?” He said with an apologetic smile. “It’s alright, Sir,” Leila said, smiling back, before adding. “But your favorite student is waiting for you by the gate.”

John smiled. Of course, Collin and his sketches. After closing the room, Leila bid him goodbye.

He shrugged his jacket on and his mailman’s bag and went to the gate. He searched for the familiar purple dress of Mrs. Hudson and a little boy clinging to her hand. When he found them, Collin ran to him holding a sketch paper. John took it, murmuring thanks as he smiled. Collin smiled at him with his bright eyes. And then Nana Emma called at Collin, saying there’s still somewhere they had to go. The old lady nodded at him smiling and reached out a hand to Collin, the kid took it and John watched as they disappear around the corner.

John went home that afternoon satisfied. Ready for another day of work.

But when the wee hours of the morning came, if anyone happened to walk along the sidewalk of Sommer Street listening carefully to the sounds of the night, then they would hear the familiar shouting—turning to a scream and ending to a sob, by an ordinary man, living on the second floor of a flat—and having a visit from the ghosts of his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No grammar police was contacted for technical reasons. Thus, this epitome of the word 'mistake' is all mine. I will add tags when I get a stable netcon. Bloody hell.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes, as he laid back in the couch in his room. He’s having another hit of migraine _again_. Ever since that trip to Thailand a week ago, he felt like the world’s largest hammer has been pounding in his head the moment he stepped off the plane at Heathrow. He already took painkillers but it only relieved the pain in a short while. Maybe he really needed a break, as what his assistant said. But he knew he couldn’t take one until the business proposal his parents had assigned to him produce a positive result. So far, it isn’t going well. He was supposed to seal the deal between The Holmes’ Hotels and Hyatt Thailand but the CEO seemed even more eager to talk about his personal life than business matters when they had a late night dinner together. And so, Sherlock had to schedule another _dreadful_ meeting with the board three weeks from now to inform them of any developments at hand.

 _Maybe I could sneak a break?_ He thought.

Still contemplating what to do, he stood up and walked to his table. Papers, file folders, and pens are scattered everywhere. Among the pile of papers, he fished some stacks of cream colored papers that he identified as the sketches Collin left for him the last time his little brother visited his room. He smiled at the memory of their conversation about it as he sifted through the sketches. Just seeing Collin’s works from school relieve him of stress. There are some occasions where Collin could draw a head profile, and it’s this one of those that Sherlock kept with him ever since his brother asked him to pick one from his new sketch collection. The sketch depicts the face of a man, sideways, staring blankly with an aura of loneliness around him. _Mysterious_ , a word that Sherlock used once to describe the drawing, also when Collin asked him why he picked that one. But also, it never failed to amuse him at the memory of his conversation with Collin from that time.

_(About two weeks ago…)_

He was seated at the couch, one temple of his glasses between his teeth, and too focused on reading a file from his laptop perched in his lap. Collin was seated between his feet at the carpeted floor. It was a rainy, Saturday afternoon.

“Sherry,” Collin called to him, he hummed in response.  
“I drew something," He felt Collin’s gaze on him and a pinch at his toe that made him flinch.  
“ _Ow_ \- what _is_ it?”  
“It’s John. Look how handsome he is.” Collin said proudly while gesturing to his sketch.  
Sherlock shook his head, “Collin, it's _Teacher_ John. Don’t be too casual,” He put his laptop by his side so he could lean over Collin’s head to take a look at the paper his brother was holding out to him. Collin's face glowed with a smile despite the gloomy weather.

Come to think of it, Collin has never been in a bad mood since he went home from his first day at school. Sherlock was never summoned in the principal's office unlike when he and Mycroft had their primary and secondary education. In those days, it was always Nana Emma, who faced the headmaster of the school. Back to Collin's giddiness, it was also when Collin started schooling, that he hasn't stopped praising his teacher, from the way the man talked and held himself. But most of all, according to his brother, the John dealt with his troublesome classmates in a calm manner, for a newbie, was admirable. One could say that Collin, like him, has an eye for _perfection._

 _Huh? Where on earth did that come from?_ He thought unconsciously.

Sherlock blinked at the paper, “He does look…” He said, trailing off.  
“Handsome. Right?” Collin supplied.  
“Oh, I don’t know. Your drawing is a bit… _blurry_.” He said in a teasing voice while throwing a smirk at his brother.

Collin pouted and snatched the paper away from his hands. The five year-old stared at the paper dreamily.

“I’m gonna marry him someday.” His brother declared, that made him even more amused.  
“You know, brother dear, you’re still young to think about marriage. You’d better think first on how to make your sketches clearer.” He said, reaching out to Collin’s head to ruffle its curls but the younger lad swatted his hand away. He leaned back on the couch, grinning at Collin while his brother throw dagger looks his way. This isn’t actually the first time that Collin gave him drawings of John. And somehow, just by seeing the man in penciled-sketch, Sherlock felt he already knew him. Although he teased Collin, his brother was already an achiever when it comes to painting family portraits during gatherings. Something he used to do before and eventually got tired of, because once in his life he was compared to their older brother Mycroft. And it made him feel _different_ , because Mycroft is _everything_ but not _him_. Sherlock was his own rebel when he was a teenager. But they already got passed that when Collin came into their lives. Going back to Collin, his little brother was just as gifted as him, being able to catch the expressions his subject was unconsciously conveying to him. There were a lot of drawings really. Some sketches of trees, landscapes, landmarks, all in charcoal pencil and plastered on the wall of Collin's playroom when he was four. But when he started schooling, it all became about Sunny March, his new classmates, but most of all, John. It’s like his little brother was drawn to the man. John sitting on his chair, John by the window pane, John standing beside one of the kids, John surrounded by the kids, and Sherlock loved all of it.

But now, Sherlock has a new favourite. He took the drawing from Collin’s hands once again and stared at it fondly, “You should give your teacher a break. You’re all being stubborn, Nana Emma reported to me.” He said, still not taking his gaze away from the man on the paper. His brother was about to protest but he beat him to it, “Can I have this though?” He asked quietly. His brother’s grey eyes narrowed before him, looking back and forth at him and the drawing, and then turning into that ‘Mum + Dad + Mycroft interrogating look’ and he couldn’t help but cringe. _How the hell even this kid can be all of them at once?_ He asked himself.

 _Oh. Yea. Genes._ Sherlock answered to himself. Sometimes he just unconsciously delete that.

Collin huffed, shaking him off his reverie.  
“Okay," His little brother said, “In one condition—”  
“Oh?” Amused, Sherlock leaned closer to his brother, “And what, pray tell, would that be, little one?”  
Collin grinned at him holding out a small cream colored envelope, “You will be my nanny on Foundation Day!”  
Sherlock’s eyes went wide as he took the envelope, flipping it with his long fingers. He’s about to protest about having business meetings when a sudden thought occurred to him. Because he just had to know.  
“Your teacher… John…” He trailed off, the silliness of the question he was about to ask, dawning on him. Clearing his throat, he repeated his question just in time as the room of his door opened.  
“Will I be able to meet your homeroom teacher, John Watson?” He lost his grip of the envelope as it fell to the carpeted floor. His gaze found the door where Nana Emma smiled knowingly with a tray of tea and biscuits at hand. Sherlock looked down at his feet, his toes scratching the carpet’s fibers and pretending not to feel his cheeks flush while his brother stared at him in confusion.  
“Oh, Sherlock. I knew you’d find your brother's teacher nice—and handsome too right?” Nana Emma beamed at him while walking towards his table. He heard her mumble something along, _‘Oh, Sherlock. What is this mess even?’_  
“I was just asking if…” He started, before adding, "If I could have a small chat with him…? About… Collin?” he lowered his gaze feeling a bit exposed in front of Nana. Why does he even feel like he’s a high school teenager being asked about his crush? And with that thought, he felt his cheeks turned crimson even more.  
“Oh dear, look at you—rosy cheeks and all.” Nana teased, grinning at him.  
Suddenly Collin jumped onto his lap and with much force and sandwiched his little hands on Sherlock’s face.  
“Look at me, Sherry!” His brother exclaimed, squeezing his hands together on him.  
“Whot ore y-yo ovon d-oooong??!!” Sherlock gagged having a hard time speaking.  
“You’re not allowed to admire John!” Collin screamed, while squeezing his face. Sherlock knowing his brother’s weakness, tickled his sides. And the kid groaned, shuffling beside him.  
Sherlock huffed, “Teacher John, Collin. And listen to me,” He glared and unsurprisingly, his little brother glared back.  
“I will admire anyone I wanted to. But I assure you, your teacher was off my list," He said quite confidently.  
His brother gave him a hard look, before finally nodding at him, “Good then!” Collin said, removing himself from his lap and added, “John is mine," while darting out a tongue. And with that, his brother strolled off his room, feet stomping, leaving him stunned, amused, and with palm marks on his pale cheeks while Nana Emma couldn’t stop laughing.

Later that night, he wondered if he could live up to his word.

••••••••

Sherlock shook his head at the memory while fishing a medium-sized envelope from the stack of files. He almost forgot about the program because of that Thailand deal that was occupying his mind. Pulling the letter opener under the papers, he opened the envelope and read the contents of the program sheet inside. The letter informs the parents and guardians about the activities to be held with a list of people as guests that Sherlock assumed are the board members of the school. There was also an instruction to send a text to the mobile number given, where the guardian should confirm their attendance. Sherlock reached out for his phone inside his robe pocket and texted his confirmation with his name and Collin’s to the mobile number. Also included are the letter of consent that Nana Emma already filled up for him when he was away. It just needed his signature. He took a pen from his drawer and signed at the corresponding line where his signature needed to be. Glancing at the opposite side of the paper he saw that the letter was also signed by Collin’s teacher. John Watson.

_John…_

Sherlock slowly traced the ragged strokes of John’s name with his fingers. And that’s when he noticed that John’s name was written below the mobile number he just texted. Suddenly, the paper felt too hot over his palm. His mind went to full throttle deduction—did he just sent a text message to John Watson? He swallowed from the thought. It just couldn’t be John’s personal number, so it was definitely the school’s number. No harm done. He chuckled to himself while returning the paper inside the envelope and slumped to his chair. But his mind just won’t stop from processing and turned to speed thinking again—but what if it was? He just texted him his name. He thought. His otherworldly name. And John would laugh at him now. Was he laughing now? What would he think of Sherlock having a name like that?

“Stop this, Sherlock.” He said, scolding himself, “Why was your name even an issue?!”

Just then, his phone pinged.

With hands shaking, he reached for his phone and slide through the message.

 _What could be the worse reply?_ He thought.

_Message Received | Unregistered Number  
’Thank you for confirming, Mr. Holmes. :) —John H. Watson’_

Sherlock chuckled at himself. _A smiley? Really?_ He thought, amused. It just confirmed his late night thoughts that the person owning the name John H. Watson was an ordinary. He saved John’s number and was about to reply to a message of gratitude when his phone pinged again. He browsed on the new text message and almost dropped his phone.

_Message Received | John  
‘And uh.. I’m looking forward to finally meeting you. —John’_

Sherlock’s mind went to a stop.

“WHAT!?” He said out loud on the screen, before adding, “Was this wrong sent?” his eyes narrowed at the screen. Collin’s teacher was looking forward in meeting him? Does Collin had anything to do with this?

Sherlock breathe in and out slowly.

“Calm down, Sherlock. This was definitely his reply to all of those parents and guardians that had sent him a confirmation.” He said to himself as he typed a fast reply.

_‘Just Sherlock, please.’_

As he hit the send button, Sherlock thought if he should have replied that he was looking forward on meeting John too. Because deep inside, he really was. Punching on the compose message to type his thoughts, a new envelope appeared on the upper part of his screen. He saved his message as a draft and went to his inbox, in which upon doing so, his heart made a sudden leap that he nearly dropped his phone.

_Message Received | John  
‘Okay then. See you on the school program, Sherlock. ;-) —John ’_

“Did he just—oh my God.” He mumbled to himself. Sherlock never felt anything _weird_ in his chest when other people say his name but why does John Watson make him feel this way? And he did gave John the permission to call him on his first name. And there's the _wink!_ Suddenly he felt disorganized, shuffled.

Curling his fingers to his messy curls, Sherlock took a deep breath and punched on the keyboard of his phone the shortest reply he could come up at the moment.

_“Likewise. —SH”_


	4. Chapter 4

The small parking lot of the school which could roughly accommodate twenty cars were already full when Sherlock drove his car to the path. To his dismay, the parking space he’s been occupying since the school year started has been reserved for guests. He huffed and reversed and drove to the other side of the building where a sign says an extra parking space was available for the school’s event, he found a vacant block and parked. Sighing in relief, he switched off the engine and got out of the car. After making sure the doors are locked, Sherlock looked at himself on one of the side mirrors, straightened his navy blue shirt and khaki pants and ruffled his already messy curls. With a satisfied look, he realized he does look charming. Grinning to himself, Sherlock made his way towards the school’s back gate with his purse and keys on one hand and Collin’s lunch box on the other.

Sherlock arrived thirty minutes early so he decided to sit on one of the wooden benches across the school’s playground where he can see the makeshift stage. He tries to look for his little brother and Nana Emma amongst the gingered, blondes, black-haired kids and parents walking and running around. The warm sunlight making their heads glisten, and when the London breeze blew, Sherlock couldn’t help but close his eyes. It’s been a while since he had been in London, and he clearly misses it. Although he had a share on Nana Emma’s flat he rarely stayed there because of his parents business.

Sherlock leaned his back on the chair when his phone buzzed. He sighed as he opened his eyes while fishing the phone from his purse and checking the message. It was his secretary reminding him of the Thailand appointment the fortnight. He typed a quick response to his secretary when he heard his nickname being called, _'Sherry!'_   for some reason, Collin was so fond of.  
He looked up from his phone to where the voice came from and his gaze found Collin. The little boy, running towards him, with his small hand carelessly dragging someone behind while beaming him a smile. Sherlock smiled fondly as well, discarding his phone and purse on the bench. Crouching on one knee on the ground, he spread his arms to receive Collin’s bear hug. And when his brother hugged him so tightly, that was the only time when his gaze went up to the person behind Collin—and the world stood still.

••••••••

“Jesus, slow down, lad!” John laughed heartily as Collin dragged him from the registrar’s booth towards the school’s playground saying something about Sherry waiting for them. This earned them fond looks from the other teachers and some parents, along with Nana Emma, jotting down their names in the guests' sheets. _Sherry_. Somehow John felt nervous about this first meeting. After the little conversation he had with Collin’s brother via text, regarding the school’s program, he just assumed Sherlock Holmes to be Sherry as well. How the hell an adorable nickname equaled the mysterious man behind the name Sherlock Holmes, that, he’s about to know. Though there’s been a talk about how Mr. Holmes looked like among the women staffs, there’s even been a bet that the man wears square glasses, braces, carries a suitcase, wearing a suit and tie while sporting a flat hair. Only that they were all wrong.

John’s thoughts stopped automatically as he laid eyes to the man sitting on the bench where Collin continued to drag him.  
Too posh, he mused, with the navy blue shirt, khaki trousers, and beige colored slip-on—the man with ruffled dark curls, sat cross-legged and still, head-bent to his phone, with long delicate fingers typing furiously—And as if on cue, John’s imagination runs wild unconsciously.

_Good lord, what those long fingers could do?_

John’s gaze then fell on the arched column of a neck, angled to the right and boy John thought of worshipping that neck in bed all day and night—which made John feel warm all of a sudden, swallowing involuntarily at the thought while feeling a familiar twitch inside his pants. _Down boy!_

John cleared his throat, whispering to Collin to let go of his hand and called out to the man, which the kid obeyed. The man, hearing Collin’s voice, responded with a fond smile, which made John catch his breath— _Wow. What a beauty—_ while the man left his phone by the bench and kneeled down to receive Collin’s hug. He marveled at the scene. John should’ve stayed a few steps away from the siblings like it was a private moment and he wouldn’t want to ruin those kinds of things. But there’s seemed to be a magnetic string coming from that man that John couldn’t help being pulled closer. And when the man’s gaze turned upon him John knew, he’s so done for. And that somehow John knew, the man felt it as well, based on the way those greenish-bluish, and then greyish, ever-changing verdigris of eyes, bore into his ocean-blue, over the sunlight before him.

_Captivating. Shit._

So John stepped in front of the two, delivering his best smile.

••••••••

Sherlock stood up not removing the loving grip of his hands from Collin and his eyes from the man before him. It’s like he couldn’t do anything but to stare. The definition of attraction he couldn’t control. He could feel the heat rising from his chest, and it’s probably showing on his neck, but he doesn’t care. He slightly tipped his chin up and narrowed his eyes, and well, deduced.

_Sandy-haired, with a touch of grey, he’s not that old, is he? I want to touch it… I wonder if it's soft... and oh. Oh! He’s an ex-army soldier—what the hell? Oh, and those hands, a doctor as well. The world is punishing me._

As the man before him stared back, Sherlock totally felt lost, those blue eyes seem to roam all over his body making him feel naked. He hitched a breath when the look on those eyes become mischievous and he swallowed as the lips of the man quirked into a small grin. He almost flinched when the man presented a hand before him.

“John Watson,” he heard him say in a crisp commanding voice. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Holmes.” And Sherlock was even more surprised when John took his almost outstretched hand slowly and squeezing it softly, almost making him whimper.  
In which Sherlock should be saying his name, alright—but well, knowing his mind doesn’t work well with his mouth when it comes to introductions, instead he replied, “You’ve been in the army.” And watched as John’s facial expression turned into something that Sherlock lesser hoped for.

••••••••

John stood frozen with his stare still directed to the man named Sherlock Holmes. He stared like the man was the most frightening thing that ever happened in his life after the _army_. He knew that his mouth was hanging open. He cursed mentally as he shut his mouth tight—so tight, he thought his teeth would break. And then he felt anger grumbling inside his chest. Gone were the butterflies inside his stomach, as teenagers would interpret what just he had felt a few minutes ago.  
John looked down, closing his eyes, and counted to ten. He opened them again and found Collin’s gaze familiarly at him, masked with concern. Of course, they share the same color of eyes—he realized. He tried to give a wee smile that hopefully didn't look like a grimace.

 _”You’ve been in the army,”_ He flinched at the baritone voice in his mind. It would’ve been arousing in a different situation but right now, calming himself, catching his breath, he would ask questions later. The program is about to start.

He looked up to Sherlock and saw that the man was nervously biting his lower lip with a crestfallen face while looking down in his own fingers curling softly at Collin’s hair. His eyes narrowed, feeling a bit concerned as a doctor. Well, lip-biting could blacken the lips and make it swollen too. All of sudden, John thought of touching those lips to stop the man from injuring himself further and so he did—reaching out a thumb, he caressed Sherlock’s lower lip without a word, making Sherlock stop from what he’s doing.  
“God, you’re so tall.” He whispered, unconsciously reaching out to the curls on Sherlock’s forehead. Sherlock’s gaze turned to him blinking in wonder. And John couldn’t help but smile.

“Good Lord, thank you, John,” Collin said in a much louder voice, sighing in relief. “He does that when he did something _stu—aww! Sherry!_ ” the kid grumbled from being tugged by his brother lightly by the hair.  
John watched in amusement as Collin glared at Sherlock and the man glared back, whispering to Collin that he should be called Teacher John, before looking back at him.

“I—Uh—I—I apologize, Mr. Watson," He heard Sherlock say in a hesitant voice.

“I have to say,” John began, “That was quite unexpected, and believe me, I am so curious right now, as for how did you know that—that I was in the army,” John whispered the last words. And when he saw Sherlock’s mouth work on something to say, he immediately beat him to it. “But that could wait, Mr. Holmes. We do have to get to the chairs so we wouldn’t be late for the program.” Sherlock nodded at him slowly.

  
“I guess… Uh—since we’ve passed introductions already,” he heard Sherlock said hesitantly, and once again John marveled at that deep voice, “via text I mean, and now—again, you can call me Sherlock,” The man breathed almost a whisper.

  
“John. John Watson," he replied as he took Sherlock’s hand this time. He smiled back when Sherlock’s mouth quirked into a small grin.

“Great. Too much for introductions, can we now go there? Today’s a tight schedule, _Teacher John,_ ” Collin interrupted, while they started walking, occasionally throwing a glare at his brother behind them. Again, being dragged towards the direction of the chairs and the stage.

John couldn’t help but shake his head at how first meetings with the Holmes' were always a headache of an encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. An update. And still nothing happened. Good God, I seriously apologize to those whom had bookmarked this fic, or subscribed—I'm seriously out of my element. As you all know, fluff isn't my element but here we are. Can't really let johnlock down. All the mistakes are mine. Thank you for still holding on.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock made his way to one of the vacant plastic chairs and sat among the other parents as John guided Collin to the side of the stage where there are benches aligned for the students, teachers, and guests. He watched as the teacher pat his brother lightly on the knee and walked his way to the Staffs corner. John, then, sat beside a woman with long blonde hair. A co-teacher—Sherlock deduced, as he watched the woman smiled to John. The latter kindly returned it. Clearly, the woman fancied John which made Sherlock’s insides twinge with... _jealousy?._ The woman blushed, tearing her gaze from John and accidentally catching Sherlock’s gaze. Sherlock held the woman’s stare. And by doing so, she caught John's attention as well. John looked at whom his co-teacher was looking at, and when Sherlock’s gaze met John’s, Sherlock glared. The teacher raised an eyebrow at him and to the teacher making the woman look down, blushing even more. Sherlock then saw John chuckling while shaking his head.

  
Their little scene has been interrupted when the school principal and Sunny March School owner, Mr. Gregory Lestrade went up to the center of the stage tapping the mic louder than expected. Feedback silenced the audience chattering about and the program started.

“To the guests, parents, guardians, staffs, teachers and of course, our students. Good Morning.” Mr. Lestrade began, offering a smile to everyone. The chorus of voices from the students greeting back from the side of the stage made everyone smile as well as Sherlock.

“I am grateful that you can make it today on our program. It has been five years since I’ve decided, I wanted to have a school where children can learn the value of education at a young age while having fun and never neglecting the wonderful experiences of being a child,” Mr. Lestrade continued, as he gestured for the teachers to stand up which was obeyed immediately.

“I am in debt,” Mr. Lestrade continued, “To my teachers, and assistant teachers for nurturing these kids to the best of their knowledge and through hard work and the length of patience they have given. To my surprise, even my younger assistant teachers, balancing their studies and their time with the kids exceeded into it. And of course, to you dear parents and guardians” Mr. Lestrade said, waving a hand in front of the audience.

“For trusting us your child. It has been an honor to stand here as the school principal and to be of service to you all. And my only wish is,” Sherlock waited as Mr. Lestrade trailed off, pulling a hanky on his breast pocket and dabbing it on his eyes. Sherlock gazed on the teacher’s corner where he saw John consoling the woman earlier, who was now also dabbing a hanky in her face, making Sherlock roll his eyes. He turned his gaze back to the stage as Mr. Lestrade cleared his throat, murmuring an apology and continued, “is for another school year to pass without a threat or harm to our students. That’s why we are leveling up our security standards and may it thoroughly keep everyone safe.”

Sherlock turned his gaze to the audience attentively listening as he half-listens himself to the principal talking about some presentations for the future expansion of the school. So far there are two additional classes added. Sunny March now accommodates Nursey and Preparatory and the classes now have students enrolled. Also, mentions of a field trip happening on the following week have been discussed. Some safety measures and the children’s accommodation during the trip created a bit of an argument that Sherlock finds really intriguing as John was then mentioned. He watched as the man stood from his chair and walked tensely up the stage. Suddenly, a large man stood up behind John gesturing for Lestrade and the two talked in hushed tones. A little later John who was now looking at his feet was urged to the conversation as well. The audience, clearly, bored as the center of the stage was cleared, enjoyed themselves on what Sherlock would describe as useless and a waste of breath.

A tap on the mic got the audience attention once again, and it was now the chubby man who talked, introducing himself as Mike Stamford, the guidance counselor. Mr. Lestrade and John are already seated at the back. Sherlock listened as the little field trip discussion has been resolved and then the children’s presentation will be next, then a break and some refreshments courtesy of the Parents and Teachers Association. Sherlock admits to himself that he missed every single meeting about that matter for the lack of time but Nana Emma assured him before that she was present in all of it and that their contribution has been made which put him into ease.  
But to Sherlock’s despair, the program was also updated as to conclude by a little parlor game for the parents, guardians, and teachers.

••••••••

The children’s presentation went on the way with the Nursery and Preparatory class combined, dancing onstage in the tune of the nursery rhyme, ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’, with Teacher Lauren, as she was introduced by Mike, as the guide. Teacher Lauren who happens to be the woman who fancies John and also the one John comforts earlier. Next came, the kinder class, which Mike called over with an enthusiastic approach.

Chatting hours with Nana Emma, Sherlock learned that the guidance counselor was actually John’s friend since college. He watched as John led Collin and the rest of the kids from the morning class and ten more kids from the afternoon class, with assistant teachers Cale and Leila, onstage. John and the afternoon class, teacher Jess, made their way in front of the stage to observe the kids.

When the music started, Sherlock watched as Collin struggle to move his hands while imitating the rest of his classmates, and Leila with the dance steps and seem to forget that he’s supposed to sing also. Sherlock took pity, snaps a finger once and just like that, immediately, he has Collin’s attention. Although Sherlock admits he couldn’t sing, damn he can dance, he studied dancing, majoring ballet in France after all, and even if it’s dancing to a nursery rhyme, it IS a form of dancing. For a minute Sherlock has Collin’s attention as he hums to himself and Collin sings with the kids shouting and screaming onstage. Sherlock then moves his hands gracefully and his hips in time of the lyrics and the music.

When the kids shouting rendition of ‘I’m A Little Teapot’, ended, the audience which Sherlock almost forgot that was there, gave the loudest of applause. Collin’s mouth broke into a huge smile as Sherlock followed through slowly clapping his hands. But after that magical moment, a boy with a mess of blonde hair from the afternoon class pulled the braided hair of one of Collin’s classmate prompting an 'all hell breaks loose' onstage. Sherlock watched as Collin tried to prevent the boy from pulling the girl's hair but in doing so, the kids fell together. Sherlock’s eyebrows shot up in curiosity as the two kids seem to face off on the stage, Collin’s face started to redden as the commotion continued. Sherlock saw Collin broke the stare-off to stand up and brush the confetti off his trousers. And then surprisingly, Collin held a hand, offering it to the boy still on the floor. The boy grinned as he took Collin’s hand. Sherlock smiled at that little gesture.

Then he saw John went up the stage to check Collin and the little boy. The teacher picked Collin up in his arms while guiding the other kid off the stage to leave them at Teacher Lauren’s care. The woman was already waiting at the stairs, to Sherlock’s dismay. A minute or two of chasing here and there and some more playful acts made the audience laugh. The continuous flashing of cameras made Sherlock felt that he was on a concert instead of a school program.

Sherlock couldn’t help a grin seeing John put his hands over his head, as a sign of defeat from the ruckus the children were causing. On the other side of the stage, John’s poor assistant Leila kept on laughing while Cale was being manhandled by the children. When the kids are calmed and returned to their seats, Mr. Lestrade came up on the stage again and announced that there’ll be a thirty minute-break for the refreshments. The parents went on to fetch their kids guiding them towards the canteen while some spread blankets over the well-trimmed green grasses surrounding the playground and others went to the benches.

••••••••

Sherlock was about to walk to Collin’s place when his little brother suddenly appears in front of him and hugs him. Sherlock smiled as he ruffled Collin’s hair. “What’s this for?” He asked quietly.  
His brother just shook his head, face still buried on his hip. Sensing that his brother might be nervous for what happened earlier on the stage he gently reached out to squeeze Collin’s arm—as he _understood._  
“It’s alright,” Sherlock whispered. “Everything’ll be alright,” Sherlock repeated reassuringly, as he looked up and saw John looking at them with a worried expression in his face. Sherlock responded with a genuine reassuring smile as he led Collin to one of the chairs.

••••••••

John finished the last of his sandwich and downed the bottle of soda Mike offered to him. He was sitting in one of the playground benches, looking at the sight of Sherlock and Collin having hushed conversations over their lunch not so far away from him and glaring at one another from time to time. Earlier he was surprised with Sherlock’s reaction when he caught him looking at Lauren and him. Lauren, a single mother of two, was the first co-teacher that John befriended on his first week in Sunny March. Although the woman was charming, John didn’t feel anything more than that. And earlier when they shared a smile, John couldn’t help but be amused when he found Sherlock raising an eyebrow over them as if asking what’s going on in between Lauren and him. The idea even made him curious about what Sherlock thought. John was never insensitive of what others feel about something. That’s why when he was in the army, his fellow soldiers often confide to him. And John, being the good doctor that often gives advice, provides his brothers at arms of what he thought would be balanced advice.  
One might say, that John easily attaches himself emotionally to the person he meets. He believed that to be able to achieve a good companionship (friendship) as well as a good relationship, one must know how the other feels and how the other views the situation. And John’s not blind and stupid not to see that this tall, posh, attractive and observant man was clearly attracted to him. And John, God knows when was the last time, that he became attracted to a man, and it was a trauma. It left him broken and kicked out of the army. But somehow John wanted to explore this unusual hunger he feels for this enigmatic man.  
Then came their performance, he knew Collin was barely in favor of dancing. He’s with the class, weeks before when they held dance practice and Collin was always the one to leave the room halfway finishing, murmuring that the steps were boring just like the adults and the only interesting one was John. And John had a laugh at that. To his delight, Collin still went up earlier onstage with his classmates. And John knew that Collin tried really hard what he could remember, although failing a bit. But the real delight was seeing Sherlock dance. And damn, if that wasn’t the hottest ‘Teapot number John had witnessed. The man was graceful when he stood up, snapping a finger to get Collin’s attention, and even the audience and the other teachers turned to him. And Sherlock danced like no one was there, just him and Collin and it was a sight to behold. A big brother guiding his sibling to achievement in his school life, and it was nothing new, John was aware. It happens in every performance, in every school, in every country, a sibling helping one another. But deep inside, John felt that despite the high and mighty aura, this Sherlock Holmes emits around him, to the people around him, to Sherlock Holmes, his brother comes first—to hell with the world. And when the performance ended—John had a wide smile on his face as the brothers smiled with one another. John sighed at the emotions he’s encountering again just by meeting this man.

He leaned upfront, balancing his elbows over his thighs, clasping another bottle of soda, not taking his gaze away from Sherlock and Collin. John finishes his drink once again and throws his trash on the recycle bin. He stood up and started to walk towards the two. Just then, the speaker booms with Mike’s voice announcing the continuation of the program. The parlor games for the parents and teachers will begin in the next five minutes and John couldn’t help but grin at the idea that came into his mind. And the parlor game will help him get through it.

Nana Emma said, Sherlock is a chemist, then surely, Sherlock will love the following little experiments John will wholeheartedly provide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear God, I'm barely hangin' on—with all the depressive thoughts I'm having, I've barely survived this chapter.. I apologise as always for the late updates. And judging by the state of my mind... I might undergo hiatus. Which I'm trying to prevent.. Seriously.. But life... really gets in the way. I do hope you'll bear with you unlikely writer.. And for those who are still sticking with me. You have my heartfelt thanks. You know who you are.


	6. Chapter 6

When Mike’s voice boomed over the speakers, John stopped in his footsteps, wondering if he would continue on his plans or to just let fate do its bidding.

_Silly thought, John. Really._

He sighed and was about to turn back when Sherlock’s voice startled him.

“John?” He turned to the sound of his name and saw Sherlock staring at him holding a sandwich by a hand and a handkerchief hovering over Collin’s face. Collin peeks from Sherlock’s side, all smiles and fondly waving his little hand with a sandwich, “Hello, Teacher John.”

John smiles awkwardly. He raised a hand and waved back at Collin. When John’s gaze goes back to Sherlock, he found the man looking at him, eyes focused intently that John found himself lost again into those unusually colored beauties.

And then Sherlock smiles— “Um... If you’re… going to ask for Collin? He’s—”

John bites his lower lip, how stupid of him, for forgetting Collin.

“Yes, Uh—Hi, Collin. Um… the games will start any moment now. Would you like to watch? Sure it’ll be fun!” John says cheerfully, trying very hard not to add another awkward situation. He watched as the boy raised an eyebrow at him as if he’s studying him silently without saying a word.

_God, they’re so much alike._

The brothers stood binning their trash and joined John as he walks back to the open field.

••••••••

The makeshift stage was now pushed to the farther side of the metal fence to give space to the front. Everyone was asked to form a wide circle, with the audience occupying the right side and the teachers and staffs on the left side. A girl guest host walks in the middle of the circle as two staffs place four chairs behind her.

“Right everyone!” the host greeted cheerfully.

“We are going to play, ‘Trip to Jerusalem’, thus the chairs. But due to the greater number of our moms than our dads, we’ll just borrow some of the male teachers to balance everything up, “

The host then started to pick two players on the audience.

“Okay! Can we have a single guardian please?”

John looked around to see the parents joking and laughing with the host. To be honest with himself, this would be the first time that John would participate in parlor games. He couldn’t remember playing any of the kind when he was a teenager or even from childhood. His father was so strict that he never got the chance of playing with his friends outside their house when the evening comes. And aside from Tug o’ War, his army days are all guns and ammunition, strategies and following and giving orders. The only kind of _fun_ he had in those days happened on _lights out_. And it never became any more fun when he was kicked out for that reason. Something that got out of hand. And he was wrongly blamed for.

John sighed and tried to focus his self on thinking about Sherlock. And speaking about the man, John looked over to the parent’s corner and found Collin and Sherlock bickering at one other. The sight of the two, now glaring at one another made him smile. If a stranger would pass by them and happen to witness the two, they would think Sherlock and Collin as father and son. The two were so much alike.

At that moment, the girl host calls for two volunteers from the male teachers, finding Mike and Jess. The men proceed to the middle. And then the host called for another pair, this time it was the single guardians' turn. Just then, John saw a woman, he knew as Tom’s mom, a single parent, pushing Sherlock upfront playfully, making the man stumbled towards Jess. Jess catches Sherlock on the waist in time before the tall man falls. The two exchanged shied glances and awkward smiles. John flexes his fingers automatically, trying his best to refrain from punching someone out of jealousy as Sherlock blushed. God, what was he thinking? Jess was a good lad, a charmer while John was aware that he’s old enough to be a dad, with greying hair and a bit of a pinch-worthy tummy. But all in all he’s still fit and strong. And the army made him a man who’s strong willed. But then the thought that Sherlock and Jess looked good together unsettles him. Dropping his gaze on the ground, he played on his shoe failing not to think that his experiments to get to know Sherlock would probably be unsuccessful before he even started.

The deafening applause of the people around him pulls John from his thoughts. He steps back until he reaches the chairs behind the crowd, occupying one of them as the cheers and coos over the audience ensue.  
Lost again in his own thoughts he barely registers Collin’s presence beside him if the child hadn’t called him.

“Teacher John.”

John looks up and was greeted with a smile, “Hey, kid.” He says. “Do you want to sit with me for a while?” John asks.

The kid nodded. He stood up wrapping his arms around Collin and gently lifting the kid, sitting him on the chair. The child leaned back, and a minute of silence passed before Collin speaks again. “I’m bored.” says the kid. John hummed in response. He couldn’t blame him. As he knows Collin loves to draw, the kid isn’t anywhere near of his sketchpads and pencils.  
Collin shifts on his seat while John watched as the kid pulls a piece of folded paper from his pocket and John glanced into it just enough to see the words scribbled in it in a black colour pencil. And then Collin began to read slowly, “As much-as I-don’t want-seeing-my-brother-around you, I don’t wanthim to bewith anyone-else-but _you._. Understand?” Collin breathes out audibly, before looking at him.

“Oh?” was all John can say.

And then Collin said to him, “You make my brother smile John.” neither pausing nor stuttering; John almost felt proud of himself for those hours of teaching his students how to write and read.

If only Collin’s words didn’t make his face feel warm as it came to his understanding. But before he can even reply, Collin held out his little hand wiggling it in front of him, as if urging him to take it.

“Come now, Teacher Jaaawwwwn.” Collin teased turning his back to John, and murmurs. “Let’s get my insufferable brother back.”

John chuckles. _Really. This kid._

“You should treat your brother a little nice, Collin.” Says John, earning him nothing more than a shrug.

He then stared at the little hand in front of him before taking it, “Are you really a five year old?” John asks in a playful voice.

The boy then turns back at him slowly, “As my certificate of birth informs you, Teacher.” Collin replies to him blandly, before adding, “Yes.” while grinning like a Cheshire cat.

And once again, John finds himself being dragged.

••••••••

Sherlock stood among the parents as the first parlor game ended, he and Jess lost. He couldn’t help but smile at the reason why. Earlier, they actually needed to save themselves so that they wouldn’t be eliminated, the rules of the game, obviously, is that they should sit together on the chair. The man refused to let Sherlock sit on his lap for his fear of John. And when Sherlock asked why Jess was afraid of John, these were Jess’ exact words, “I’m afraid I couldn’t let you sit on me Mr. Holmes, John would never be really pleased. If you’ll excuse me, Sir.” And with a knowing smile, Jess left him standing by the chair. Speaking of John, _there you are._ Sherlock finds John just opposite of him. And if he walks straight into him, he’ll reach John in four strides of his legs. He sighed, he couldn’t help but admit that he missed the man already. God, they were together just fifteen minutes ago, and now this? What the hell was happening to him?

He was a bit distracted by the parents clapping in amusement as Jess got bullied on the teachers’ corner. The poor guy looks flushed and soon to combust in embarrassment. Sherlock just smiles as he turns to John again, his breath catches to find John looking at him too. His eyes, oh those shades of blue that darkens whenever he looks at Sherlock. Just then, time seems to stand still when John smiles at him. That slow boyish upturn of the mouth. A breeze catches John’s golden blonde hair, as the grey streaks shuffle to be seen.

_Oh.. Beautiful…_

Then John moves—and he was now walking towards him. First, John backs away, evading the crowd, and then John moves slower—slower? There’s something wrong with the time, definitely. Sherlock was now feeling dizzy with what’s happening. And he can’t help but hold a hand on his head as John nears him. And now John was frowning? Was he mad? Why would he be… mad? Was it because of Jess? Oh no—Sherlock felt like the world was turning so fast. And now John’s here, in front of him.

Sherlock felt the ground beneath him melt as his knees eventually give in.

The spell was broken.

Everything should be back to normal, except for the dream that his waist was now enclosed into John’s arms.

 

••••••••

John never expected to have a man in his arms. Not when he’s still having nightmares. But today, he’s so wide awake, but somehow Sherlock in his arms doesn’t make him feel like he wanted to hide to the world. Sherlock fainted, why he doesn’t know, _yet_ but hopefully, he’ll know soon. He kept on calling the man’s name and he watches as Sherlock’s eyelids flutter. He feels Sherlock’s pulse by the neck and wrist. Finding it a bit weak, he decides to carry the man to the clinic.

Passing through a crowded space isn’t really easy. Because of one; the parents he collided with, murmuring apologies as they passed, some asks if he needs help in carrying Sherlock. The man was tall, obviously, but he’s slim enough and weighs light so John has been able to fit Sherlock into his arms. Two; his co-teachers are now giving him looks and he’s not really in the mood to entertain whatever they are thinking of and three; he’s worried because they’re now nearing Collin who has a smug look on his face.

“God, really, here? Wake up, Sherry!” Collin screams on Sherlock’s ear. John shuts Collin with a look. And the kid obeys. John almost regretted what he did but Collin beats him first.

“This isn’t the first time he lost consciousness,” Collin says in a quiet voice.

“Really?”

“Mm.”

“And why is that?” John inquires as he shifts Sherlock in his arms.

“Maybe because he hasn’t eaten for days,” Collin replies.

_What in the world?_

John sighs heavily. “Okay, fetch Teacher Leila, and tell her that Teacher John asks for her to come to the clinic with protein bars and uh…coffee? Takeaway.”

Collin nodded and ran off to Leila. Once he made sure that Collin did what he was instructed, he continued to the clinic.

••••••••

The first thing Sherlock noticed when he regained his consciousness, was the feeling of having an empty stomach. But they just had lunch? _Oh._ Sherlock remembers. Collin was the one who had lunch. He totally forgot. He hasn't eaten his share because he was too focused on Collin. Sherlock felt parched and hungry. God, he felt like his intestines were eating his own flesh. Grossed out of his thoughts, he flinches and tries to open his eyes slowly. And in that exact moment, as he opens his eyes, Sherlock thought that heaven and angels were real. Because he’s now seeing one, beautiful eyed angel, blue eyes just like the sky, sandy-haired, he wonders if this angel’s hair would feel soft against his fingers. So he lifts his hands and slides his fingers through the sandy-haired celestial being in front of him. He watches as the blue-eyed angel closes his eyes as Sherlock’s fingers made contact. But when Sherlock’s hand slides down to the angel’s neck, he feels the soft beating of a pulse against his fingers.

Which made him ask the question loudly, “Do angels have a pulse?” and when Sherlock glances up to meet his angel’s face, he was surprised to see John with a warm smile painted on his face.

“That, I don’t have the faintest idea,” John replies, snaking his own fingers to Sherlock’s.

Sherlock felt a warm sensation pushing through his chest. God, he really liked this man.

Then Sherlock feels something from their clasped hands. Sherlock narrows his eyes at the thing.

A protein bar.

_What?_

And that’s when Sherlock’s puzzled look meets John’s daring eyes. John who was now in doctor mode. He bits his lower lip while gently tugging his hand off from John’s grip but the small built of a man was strong.

Sherlock hesitates, “John—”

"How are you feeling?" asks John cutting him.

Sherlock gazed at John's hand on his before answering, "A bit.. dizzy."

John hums in response, and still not letting go of his hand.

Lifting his gaze back to the doctor's face, he saw an unmasked expression of worry and... _anger?_

Sherlock then noticed the need to explain, "John—"

“Seriously, Sherlock—when was the last time you’ve eaten something that helps the human body generate energy?” John snapped at him.

Sherlock shook his head, he couldn’t remember the last time he ate an acceptable meal. He rarely stayed at the manor. Meals on planes wouldn’t count either. Sherlock refuses to eat them when a stewardess delivers with a slip of their number under the takeaway box. But he does remember having a lasagna two days ago.

“Um... Does lasagna counts?” he asks hesitantly.

“When?”

“Two… days ago?” Sherlock answers in a hesitant voice.

Letting go of his hand, Sherlock watches as John tears the wrapper of the protein bar and gives it to him. He accepts, biting slowly, never removing his gaze from John. And when John passes him the tea, he savors the coffee’s aroma first, before taking a sip.

“Good?” asked John.

Sherlock nods, daring to look directly at John, “Perfect, actually.”

He felt triumphant as John turned red before him, before breathing out audibly.

“So… uh… you need to have a proper meal later. So you’ll regain your strength, and please rest. Take a day off. We don’t really want you fainting to just anyone,” says John.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “Anyone but you?” he says.

John laughs, “Yes, Sherlock. Anyone but me.”

Sherlock felt so light-headed that he almost forgot he’s alone in the clinic with John and that he’s flirting with John and that the doctor is flirting back at him. He didn’t even try to hide the huge smile on his face, “Don’t worry, dear Doctor. I won’t faint—if it isn’t in your arms at all.”

“So uh… I was just thinking if…” John trails off.

_Oh my god… is he going to…_

“Yes, John?” Sherlock asks almost breathless.

The doctor cleared his throat, before Sherlock found himself once again, an audience for those beautiful eyes, “Dinner? Later?” John asks him, smiling.

And this time, Sherlock didn’t even try to hide his blushing face. “Yes, doctor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John! Why did you asked for a date??! Not yet! Not yet! Whyyyyy?! Seriously, i write when the idea comes, i don't plan this thing even if i do little researches. Goodness, John Watson—where will you take you Sherlock? (–_–") 
> 
> —Gaaah. Probably because of the _severe_ headache.
> 
> A/N: after SEVEN hours! BLESS AO3's sysAdmin for fixing the site! Kudos!


	7. Chapter 7

The walk from the clinic back to the open area was oddly a long one. John tried his best to act professionally as he walk with Sherlock by his side. Two men coming out of the clinic by themselves without a kid with them indeed could start a talk. True enough, some elderly passing by were giving them the _look_ already. So John tried to distance himself. He’s quite fine with the occasional brushing of shoulders, of fingers, and the sneaky glances both of them share.

When they got back to their seats, John was instantly bombarded by questions about what had happened. He answers truthfully as there was nothing wrong to hide about it except he left out the details of him and Sherlock shamelessly flirting with one another. Fortunately, he was saved from further questioning by his peers when Principal Lestrade went up the stage for the speech to close the program. John took the stage too as he introduced himself and said a little ‘thank you’ speech for the attendees of the program and then when he was finished his other co-teachers followed.

The parents applauded as the faculty took their bow. Some chatter here and there and the school bell sounded indicating that the day’s event has ended. The parents along with their kids started to leave the school premises. He looked for Sherlock and Collin but neither of them were to be found. Guessing Collin couldn’t wait to go home or that some important matter had come up.

On the way to the parking area, John met Nana Emma with Collin. And there the good old lady informed him that indeed, some business matter that needed Sherlock’s immediate attention prompted the man to leave first and that he apologises for not being able to say farewell. John dismissed the thought saying that it wasn’t needed. He then hugged Collin briefly and said their goodbyes.

••••••••

Chairs, tables and the makeshift stage were cleared off by the time John left and made it to the parking lot. He doesn’t own a car but he does own a bicycle. He rummage through the contents of his bag fishing up his time card, riding his way to the exit. When he arrives on his flat, he thought of texting Sherlock to discuss where they would meet or would it be alright still? Nana Emma said, the man had an urgent business matter to attend to. After changing into his everyday clothes, John decided to put a thought at everything as he slump to his bed.

 _A date with Sherlock._ John doesn’t date, no. He doesn’t even know where to take the guy. So he called the person whom he knew who could help him. Browsing through his contacts, he tapped Mike’s name and pressed the call button. The connection clicked and he was greeted by his friend enthusiastically.

“John! We just waved at each other earlier!” Mike greeted on the other line.

John chuckled, “Yea. I was just wondering if you could help me with something. I just... actually thought of it now.”

Mike’s reply came immediately. “Oh? Sure! About what?”

John cleared his throat before answering, “I’m… taking someone to a date.” He said quietly.

The other line went silent for a bit that John thought the call got disconnected. He was about to call Mike’s attention when his friend suddenly screamed on the other line, making him cringed. Damn, Mike could be loud at times.

“Bloody hell, mate! That was good! Who’s the lucky one then?” Mike asked enthusiastically.

John swallowed. “Well, I… It’s Sher—I mean, Mr. Holmes.” He answered sheepishly.

Mike snorted. “Well, well, well. Now was unexpected.” Mike said.

John could actually feel the heat rising from his skin as he can imagine the sly smile Mike was giving him on the other line.

“Look, Mike—seriously mate. It’s not going to end on _that_ whatever it is you’re thinking.”

 _At least, not yet._ He just really wanted to know more about the enigma, that was, Sherlock Holmes.

Mike whistled on the other line. “Well—I wouldn’t know where he likes to go on a date. But judging by the man’s profession; he probably fancy restaurants. You know? The huge and _posh_ ones.”

John groaned. He thought so too. “Yea, he might.”

The fact that John had been on a posh restaurant only once and with his _estranged_ family—made him doubt his dating skills even more as he realises it. But he couldn’t deal with this date as planned if he lets his anxieties eat him alive.

“Listen—thanks Mike, really. You’ve been a great help.” John said.

“Hey, John?” Mike calls, sounding a bit serious.

“Yea?” _Here it comes._

His friend sighs heavily on the other line. “Just… take care of that fragile heart of yours huh?” Mike said in a low voice.

John sighed as well. “Mike—“

“I know—I know. _You_ know what you’re doing. You just have to take your steps carefully and seriously. We don’t really want either of the two of you to be hurt in the end.”

_God, Mike, where did that even came from?_

“We’re not—“John tried to start in defense but swerved from it. “Right. Uh… thanks, Mike. Seriously. That was good. Good advice.”

His friend hums on the other line. “By the way, Harry called.” Mike said suddenly.

John smiled, his sister haven’t called him yet for a month. Their last conversation was a week after John’s new job. He remembered Harry was even more excited than he was of the thought of teaching kids. His sister even mentioned that she and Clara wanted to adopt an infant to raise for themselves. And John warmed at the thought. If the adoption proceeds, he’ll have a niece or nephew soon.

John was pulled out of his thoughts when Mike called his name again.

John apologises and asks. “Oh? What did she said?”

When Mike dropped the answer, John could only imagine Mike’s grinning face.

_“She wants to meet Sherlock Holmes.” Mike said. Dear God, no. Knowing Mike, he probably exaggerated on drawing a conclusion on _whatever_ he saw and told Harry._

_“Bloody hell, Mike Stamford—” John started with a warning in his voice._

_Mike laughed on the other line._

_“You arse!—what the hell did you tell my sister?” John huffed._

_“Oi, I didn’t tell anything!” Mike exclaimed in defense. “I just took photos of you and sent it to her! Not my fault when most of your photos were with little Collin and his brother.” Mike said as he laugh some more._

_“Goodness. If my… God, Mike.” John rubbed a hand on his face, imagining Mike sending his pictures with Sherlock and Collin to his sister, and Harry will be over the moon on teasing him when she sees it._

_In which Mike’s answer was another laugh._

_“No worries!” Mike said reassuringly. “John—you know your sister. She just wanted to know what’s keeping you from calling her thrice a week or weekly as promised.”_

_“Dear God, I’m not a child anymore.” John rubbed a hand over his face again. “And I already told her about how my _work_ was keeping me busy.” John said, emphasizing his voice on the word ‘work’._

_“Yea well, your younger sister was actually the one acting older right now. Who’s to blame?” Mike chided._

_“Oi—“John warns._

_“Kidding. So—call her?”_

_“Yea, of course—I will. Thanks, Mike. You arse.”_

Cutting Mike’s heartfelt laughing, he called his sister right away. And knowing his sister wouldn’t let go of the subject that was _Sherlock Holmes_ , it took over an hour and a half before he was able to shrug off his sister and truthfully tells her that he has a date with Sherlock. Knowing Harriet, dates bore her sister and insisted that he’d take Sherlock to a club and _dance_ the night off with him. Hearing their code word for ‘sex’, John flushes to that possibility. But he insisted the ‘No, Harriet. Sherlock isn’t into that. As far as I’m aware’ rule. And he explains that the date was all about _getting to know each other_ phase which made her sister groan in frustration, that John thought Harriet would end the call. Indeed, she ended the call after shamelessly shouting over the phone the words, “Do call me when you shag Sherlock Holmes already!” The end.  
John smiled at himself in front of the mirror. He wears a cream-colored jumper that accents his sandy blonde hair. Not much of a dress code for a date but John already thought of a place where he would take Sherlock Holmes and that doesn’t include wearing a suit and tie which means not a fancy restaurant. Dusting off his faded blue jeans, and slipping on his shoes, John took out his phone from his pocket and texted Sherlock the place where they would meet.

••••••••

Sherlock stretched languorously on the spare bed, his blue silk robe falling off his shoulder with its ends touching the floor. He felt knackered. It was utter idiocy that he forgot to tell his assistant that he wouldn’t be available for a business appointment even after the program had ended. But because of the overwhelming feeling, he had over a certain teacher he totally forgot. Now here he is, drained of strength legs aching from too much legwork for the day. That insufferable beefy man in his fifties, divorced, with a horrid mustache introducing himself as Mr. Timothy Hanes who owned a handful of floating restaurants operating in Vietnam wasn’t even worth it. But his assistant told him that he was a valuable asset according to a relayed message from his father. Sherlock touched the sensitive skin of his neck where Mr. Hanes shamelessly touched and almost sniffed the life out of him if he hadn’t deduced that it’s time for the old man to take his hypertension medicine that he left on his office. Good Lord! It’s a good thing it was a valid excuse that the old man was forced to leave first before him.

Sinking deep into his thoughts, he snatched a plushy pillow, hugged it and rested his chin over the softness of its material. Most of his clients found him attractive. And he couldn’t help but wonder if John does too. To think that John did ask to go out with him. He dismissed the thought of it being a date. He’s not good with dates if feelings would be involved. He often considered himself as un- _date_ able. If there’s such a word. But business dates with his parents’ clients are a different matter. Business is business. Only his clients were usually the one to step up on wooing him. But John isn’t _business_. So even if it’s eating out for fun or just for some company, it’s fine with him because it’s with John. But somehow he felt nervous and excited at the same time. With the thought of John, he was once again reminded of their shameless flirting session. _What if_ them _eating out_ would lead to… Sherlock swallowed hard at the thought of… God, those almost hungry looks John was giving him, fleeting touches. He’s getting hard thinking about it. Suddenly Sherlock found himself writhing over his bed. His hand aching to touch himself. But no—he wasn’t even home or in his own flat! Respect was the very first lesson his mother had taught him—be it a person, a property, or some renaissance skull aged three hundred years old. Add the fact that he was once caught by Nana Emma with someone, when he was eighteen, a man, on this very bed he’s lying in, only that that former classmate from uni was being strangled by him—for an experiment, he blandly explained. How many minutes does a purple mark would appear before a person dies of strangulation? But due to unfavorable results that included him almost being sued by the parents of his classmate, he got grounded though by his own parents from accessing England’s finest laboratories. But that was long ago, and it was still nice of Nana Emma to volunteer her flat allowing him and Collin to stay for the night. Sherlock was ever grateful for he felt drained already after today’s mishaps on the school and that bloody appointment he had. So be it a date with John or just eating out, John could wait. Right? Sherlock doesn’t want to think of anything at this moment. The bed felt so good beneath him. Even his growing member a minute ago forgotten. The need to sleep was greater than the need to _touch_. And he will take a rest first, the world be damned.  
He was about to be dragged away by slumber when his phone pinged. His eyes snapped open and narrowed at his phone above his head. As he grabbed it, it pinged again.  
_Same person, huh?_

To his dismay, he didn’t look at the message but instead he pressed the _Call_ option and put the phone over his ear.

Sherlock huffed in annoyance and with his deep baritone voice he used in addressing people he less liked, he addressed the person on the other line with disdain.  
_“Whoever_ you are, whatever you do, _whatever_ you want with me will remain unheard as of this moment. I will end this call and you will never call me back! You will receive an automatic e-mail telling you to contact my assistant—for the love of all the saints and sinners in the world—SET.AN.APPOINTMENT.—DO.NOT.DISTURB.ME—WHILE I’M TRYING TO SLEEP—!”

He counted down to five and grinned triumphantly when no one answered on the other line. He then pressed the end call button prompting the screen to return to the opened message. Sherlock’s eyes widened in horror to see who the recipient of his wrath was.

 

> _[Message Received : 19:08] John Watson_
> 
> _Hi! Umm, it’s John. It’s about the message I’ve sent before this. It’s uh… a place I know where we could, umm… eat? Uh—hang out? If you’d like. Call me if you see this. See you in a bit. And uh—be safe. :)_

Sherlock frantically jumped off the bed, throwing his phone on the duvet. He took his robe off sprinting to the bathroom to do his thing. After having the fastest shower in his life that took ten minutes, he crossed to his drawers, picked up something casual to wear—black trousers, a blue long-sleeved shirt (doesn’t really screams fashion but whatever—!). He slipped on his shoes, tousled his curls, and straightened up to the door—almost running into Nana Emma, which was talking to him about Collin falling asleep already while collecting Sherlock’s laundry. He murmured an apology and kissed the old lady on her cheeks. He was about to cross the stairs when Nana Emma called to him. He turns and catches his purse and his phone in time. He grinned at Nana Emma as the good lady waved him off.  
And in the darkening skies of London, threatening another downpour of rain, Sherlock hailed a cab, dictated the address from John’s first message—wishing deep into his heart that he hadn’t ended this _thing_ between him and John that was just about to start.

 

••••••••

John stood in awe while gaping at his phone screen when the call he just answered ended in ten seconds. To be honest, he felt his heart skipped a beat when he saw Sherlock’s incoming call. _Yes._ **Finally.** He came to the conclusion that he _really, really, like Sherlock._

But when he answered it, it was _not_ the call he was expecting. But _that_ was _Sherlock?_ Right? _What_ the hell just _happened_ then?

He blinked to the blurred reflection of himself through the screen of his phone, his mind doing playback of what the voice on the line said. His mind barely registering the words, _never_ calling back—assistant, appointment, and _sleeping?_ as he slumped on a chair behind him.

John suddenly felt dumped. Not to brag about his dating history but _this_ would be the first time that somebody made him feel this way. He was usually the one to say _no._

He sighed heavily. _So this is how it felt._

He looked around slowly as the people started to grow in number on the George’ Lane Market. This was the place he texted Sherlock of. It wasn’t that much but it wasn’t less either. The food trucks around offer a lot of street foods—some are deserts and delicacies from other parts of the world. There are also mini-stops the tourists frequent of. But as for the natural born, the place was a famous _dating_ corner. And for those who enjoy a little privacy, there are makeshift restaurants too.

“Right.” John murmured to himself. _Enough of illusions, John._

Slipping his phone to his back pocket, he made his way back to the parking area where he left his bicycle. But just as he was about to turn the corner, a cab skidded and almost crashed on a nearby stall.

John uttered a curse. “Oi! careful!” He shouted at the cabbie.

Half running and a half walking across the other side of the lane, John reached the cab as the passenger’s door opened and revealed Sherlock. Sherlock who looked like he was about to cry. His pale greenish-grey eyes reddening in the light of the yellow lamppost.

“John…” The man whispered, eyes roaming over his face, moving frantically as if searching for something.

John swallowed and nodded, lips smiling tightly. “Aye, that’s me.”

He watched as Sherlock looked around them slowly, anxious at the people around. It was then that John noticed the tourists and passersby were already gathered around them. The rain started to fall.

John covered a palm over his head blocking the pounding of raindrops as he gestured a hand towards the cabbie.  
“Have you paid yet?” He asked Sherlock.

“Oh.” Sherlock breathe. The tall man blinked at him as if awakening from a dream. And then looking down on his purse, rummaging through it, eyes narrowing when he couldn’t seem to find what he was digging for.

“Right—Let me—” John said.

Sherlock’s gaze snapped back at him shaking his head. “No—I—Its—“

John touched a hand gently on Sherlock’s as he pulled some twenties on his pocket.

“It’s alright.” He said, smiling while he gave the bills to the cabbie.

“I’m sorry. John—really—I’m—that _call_ was—It doesn’t— “Sherlock stammered, in which John held up a hand.

“Hey, Sherlock—wait. Take it slow, alright?” John smiled lightly towards Sherlock. Just seeing the state of the man right now. It was enough for him to forgive Sherlock.  
Sherlock nodded, and John couldn’t help but reach for a wet curl that loosened on Sherlock’s temple. So he did. His fingers reached out slowly and tucked it back to Sherlock’s ear. To his heart’s delight, he saw a flush of red blossoming on the pale skin of Sherlock’s neck. As much as he loved what he was seeing John put his hand down, inserting it to his pocket as Sherlock’s gaze dropped on the pavement.

“So.” John said, trying to get Sherlock’s attention again, in which the man obligingly looked up to him.

And amidst the mess of thoughts inside John’s head including Sherlock _indeed came_ to their _date_. John decided to make the best of the night for him.

“Let’s feed you something warm.” John declared to the now, damped, from the mess of curls to shoes Sherlock.

 

••••••••

One thing that John should know about him was—he hated the rain.  
Sherlock hates the gloomy feeling it gives him. And with the mishaps that happened, Sherlock hated the rain even more. And they were stuck inside a small spaced resto eating Chinese, _seafood Chinese_. He watched silently at the small built of a man in front of him chewing so eagerly at the second plate of buttered shrimp John ordered for himself while John ordered him a shrimp soup. He hasn’t tasted it but he ate the garlic bread first, health issues. He has an allergy to shrimps. It developed when he was a teenager and once he carried an antihistamine with him. But when he was an adult and just decided not to eat seafood he stopped bringing them.  
And right now, he didn’t know how to tell John. He doesn’t want John to feel bad about their first date just because he couldn’t eat what’s in front of him. The downpour of rain was already ruining their date.

And also it was a bad feeling that he wanted to taste the soup now—because of John. John who was eating so enthusiastically and now looking at him. He watched as John swallowed his food, gaze not faltering, stirring something inside him and making him swallow as well.

“Sherlock,” John called to him.

Sherlock blinked twice, his mouth opening slightly. “Huh?”

“Are you alright?” John asked him, in a concerned voice.

“Am I—”

“Alright—?”

“Yes. Of course.”

John nodded slowly smiling, then he gestured at the bowl in front of them. “You haven’t finished your food, “

Sherlock’s gaze dropped on the shrimp soup in front of him like it was a bomb. “Oh, I… Um. Yes—I’ll—Sorry.” He stammered again, God he’s so nervous. It was a very long time when he last ate seafood cuisine.

Sherlock smiled awkwardly as he scooped his spoon to his bowl and took a sip. He closed his eyes as he swallowed. His chest was already contracting—like it knows what would happen next. He scooped and ate again and again. He was on his fourth intake when John stopped his hand. Sherlock looked at John’s hand over his and up to John’s face.

“Sherlock—you’re… swelling. “ John started, eyes widening with concern.

It was then that Sherlock realized the idiocy of his actions. But before he could answer John was already out of his chair, phone out, eyeing Sherlock and talking to someone in an urgent tone via phone call. And that's also when the dizziness attacked him. He gripped his hands on both sides of the table as he struggled to breathe. The world tilting around him. His insides felt like it wanted to let loose. When he tried to open his eyes he saw no one in front of him but he felt warm strong arms behind him as he succumbs into the call of darkness. And the last thing that Sherlock heard was John cursing behind him over and over again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst. _A best friend._

John paced back and forth outside Sherlock’s hospital room. 

That was close. And John felt that he was really the one to blame. He just dragged Sherlock inside a Chinese restaurant not even asking if he wanted to eat on the place. When he should’ve asked Sherlock where he wanted to eat or what he wanted to eat—what’s his favourite food—his food preference—or much better, he should’ve asked Sherlock if he had an allergic reaction to seafood. He groaned. Alright. He shouldn’t blame himself in all of it. He’s unaware that Sherlock has anaphylaxis. But really, he couldn’t blame this to Sherlock. Surely, Sherlock _never wanted_ to have an allergic reaction but what John wanted to _know,_ was the reason _why_ Sherlock still ate the shrimp soup even if he knew he had an allergic reaction to it.

John sighed heavily as he slumped on one of the chairs beside the door. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he listened to the hushed tones of conversations inside Sherlock’s room. When Sherlock woke up about an hour ago, he looked at John guiltily. A look that he could interpret as _Sherlock thinks it’s over between us and he’s blaming himself_. And God, how he wanted to wrap Sherlock in his arms and tell him it’s not his fault. It’s been two hours since then. After Sherlock was given first aid, he was taken in the ambulance and was rushed immediately to the hospital. It’s a good thing that St. Mary’s Hospital was just fifteen minutes away from the market place. 

When Sherlock was declared out of danger, John never felt that kind of relief before again. Like when he was in the army and he was able to save a soldier’s life. But somehow he couldn’t find his voice to talk to Sherlock. When he finally met Sherlock’s gaze, Sherlock smiled at him although it didn’t reached the man’s eyes. Thankfully, he was saved from an awkward conversation when a knock on the door broke the silence between them. Nana Emma entered with Collin. When they have arrived and Sherlock was rushed to the emergency room, John then called Nana Emma and told her about what happened. But now, she blames herself too that she haven’t told John. She’s the one who looked after Sherlock when Sherlock was young. But John insisted that it wasn’t her fault and reassured her that Sherlock was being given attention by now. He stayed on the phone only ending the call when Nana Emma arrived. The nanny sighed in relief to find Sherlock awake and when Sherlock called her softly, beckoning her for a hug, John smiled at the small reunion in front of him. Then Collin ran to Sherlock, the kid jumping on the bed to hug his brother something inside John melted with affection. But as much as he wanted to stay, he cleared his throat, momentarily interrupting the reunion. He murmured to Nana Emma that he’ll grab some coffee on the cafeteria and left the room without looking at Sherlock. He felt guilty. A jackass even. He shouldn’t be like this. But he needed to sort his feelings once again. If he and Sherlock are going to continue on this… _something_ in between them. He needed to make sure if Sherlock trusts him first. Because if the man couldn’t tell him about an allergic reaction that could’ve caused his life, John doubts if Sherlock would entrust him his heart. 

A grave mistake in the past shouldn’t be committed again in the future.

••••••••

“Sherlock, dear?” He heard a voice called to him followed by a soft squeeze on his hand.  
Sherlock blinked in front of him and found Nana Emma sitting on the chair looking at him with a worried gaze. The old lady’s greying hair seem to glisten from the light inside the room. “You’ve been staring by the door for a while now. Are you feeling ill again? Dizziness?” asked Nana Emma.

Sherlock nodded a bit. Although he couldn’t point out if he was feeling ill because of the aftereffects of the medicine or the fact that he’s worried about what John was thinking about _him_ right now. 

Nana Emma nudged his hand that she was holding. “ _He_ got so worried you know,” She said softly. And by saying _he_ , he knew she was talking about John.  
“I know.” Sherlock answered quietly. 

“And _us_ too. Collin here couldn’t sleep.” Nana Emma said, gesturing to a mop of dark curls, now slumped beside Sherlock, snoring lightly. He looked down at his little brother as he thread his fingers through Collin’s dark curls. He smiled when the boy leaned softly into his touch.

“I apologise, Nana,” He murmured, after a while, careful not to wake Collin beside him.

When Sherlock looked up, Nana was smiling at him. And it was a knowing smile. “Oh, Sherlock,”  
He bit his lower lip and for the first time in his life, he admitted something that he’d done wrong.

“I know I should’ve told John about my condition. But I was afraid to ruin our— _us_ eating out. But I do am aware that I’ve probably miscalculated the fact that I would never be immune to this thing,” Sherlock explained, gesturing his hands in front of him before adding, “But I haven’t had an attack for years, Nana—“

Nana Emma nodded in agreement. “Yes, indeed—” She said, cutting him off. “But that’s because you haven’t eaten what was bad for you until now.” She implied, before continuing. “And Sherlock, don’t you think so low of Teacher Watson. He’s a _doctor._ Of course, he’ll be worried if he learns about your health issues. But that doesn’t mean he’ll give up on you already. Surely he wouldn’t be just scared off because you have an allergy? And he will take care of you even more if you would just be honest with him. And also—“Nana Emma paused as she got up from the chair. “If the man really likes you, It would take more than an allergic reaction to scare him away. Hmm?” Nana squeezed his hand as she let go of it and headed towards the door. 

Sherlock thought of what Nana had said. If Nana Emma’s right, Sherlock should think of a way of how he could explain to John everything. But could Sherlock open up about his out of the ordinary life when he only knew the man as a former army doctor, ranked Captain and the homeroom teacher of his little brother. There were times that he catches John’s gaze and as if John thought he has a lot of secrets. But Sherlock was as mesmerised as John was to him.

••••••••

There was a sound of a muffled conversation outside the door before it opened slightly. John's peeked through the door, smiling lightly when he sees him.

“Hey,” John greeted at him. He walked inside the room, closing the door behind him softly, mindful of the little form of Sherlock’s brother, sleeping seated on a chair beside Sherlock’s bed. 

“Hi,” Sherlock smiled. But John didn’t returned it, instead, John walked to the other side of the bed and sat on the vacant chair. He reached for Sherlock’s free hand and cupped it close to his lips. Sherlock’s hand have been kissed before during business meetings. Although he didn’t paid much attention to those times, but with John doing it now, it felt so intimate. John remained like that for a minute then he looked at him tight lipped. Sherlock wondered if John was mad at him.

“Your doctor said . . . The one assigned to you—he said you can be discharged tomorrow. Patients who have suffered… _almost_ severe allergic reaction should stay and be monitored for the next 24 hours. So . . . you’ll stay here. ”John said in a tight voice.

Sherlock worried his lower lip, dropping his gaze to John’s shoulder. “John. I know, I . . . It was so wrong of me that I didn’t tell you. That I—“Sherlock stopped. He was surprised by the sudden coldness in his hand and confused that he got used to it already. He looked at John and found the man with both of his hands covering his face. Sherlock heard him sigh. “—it was so wrong indeed.” Then John swore under his breath.

Sherlock couldn’t make up what John had said for John’s voice was muffled over his hands. But the swearing was _clear_.

“I’m so sorry . . .” Sherlock said quietly.

John breathed out, before speaking. “This isn’t the right time to talk about it, Sherlock. You still have to rest.” He heard John said with finality in his voice and Sherlock couldn’t help but think if this was John’s way of saying that they’re done already.

“Not good?” Sherlock asked hesitantly after a stretch of silence.

“Bit not good, yea.” John replied.

Sherlock looked down at his fingers scratching at the now crumpled bed sheet over his lap. He was this anxious that he didn’t know what his hands where doing.

“Right.” John said with a terse nod. “Nana Emma asked for Collin, I’d better wake him up. So you could rest. . .”

Hearing the last bit snapped Sherlock’s patience. He felt suddenly irritated. It’s wrong. He knew he’s at fault but right now that he’s totally feeling fine—he’s trying hard to stop himself from saying anything that would add up to the brewing tension inside the room. Right, John cares. Sherlock’s at fault, end of story. _Move on, Sherlock._ Just like before.

When John was able to rouse up Collin, his little brother reached blindly for him and kissed him on the cheek. He ruffled Collin’s curls as John murmured to the kid that Nana Emma was waiting outside. Collin waved at Sherlock as he watched him leave with John. Now that he’s alone. He’ll have enough time to sulk before John comes back. He does wanted to be alone to his comfort but that last thought isn’t exactly comforting.

••••••••

When Sherlock was discharged from the hospital, Nana Emma asked one of his trusted neighbor to drive for them back to the Holmes Manor. She had a hip so she wouldn’t do and the good old lady added that she won’t take any chances of leaving Sherlock driving on his own for now.

When they arrived home, Sherlock asked why John wasn’t the one who drove for them instead, Nana Emma smiled apologetically adding that the good teacher had already apologised to her when Sherlock was still asleep yesterday. 

”Work reasons, he said. The field trip is two weeks from now.” Nana Emma said as they approach the porch of the manor. “But don’t worry, Sherlock. He would still be at school, you know. . .” Nana Emma said in a teasing voice. “You could be the one to attend to Collin once you’re back on your feet.” She added amused. Collin who was trailing behind Nana Emma stick out his little tongue and mouthed, _In your dreams._ to him. Sherlock glared at his little brother who just shrugged innocently then went on inside the house first. Nana Emma chuckled softly murmuring of missing Mycroft to add on their childish play already.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, then went back on their topic, “As much as—I wanted to. . . I do have work reasons as well Nana,” He said non-comically. And left the conversation at that. Then he said his gratitude and goodbyes and went straight to his room. 

After his conversation with John the day before, he did fell asleep. _Dull._ He was even hoping he would be able to talk to John finally.

••••••••

After a relaxing bath, Sherlock lie down on his bed. He does have a full schedule this week. And then there’s Collin’s field trip. _In two weeks…_ He got up and retrieved his phone from his table then sat on the edge of his bed. He tapped the Messaging app, browsing the Contacts field—when he found what he was looking for he started typing a new message, slowly and carefully.

_To: John  
I’m home. – SH_

Then he hit the send button. He lie down on his bed again and waited and waited until he fell asleep. When Sherlock woke up the sun has already set. It was now six in the evening. He checked on his phone for John’s reply but there was none. He got up again and walked to his table. He checked the documents his assistant left for him to be signed. He read some, but for some reason he couldn’t find his focus. Clearly, his mind was elsewhere. 

It would do him really good if he wasn't _this_ distracted now.

Well he hadn’t been like _this_ in a long time. Not that he treated John as a distraction. His… _feelings?_ Maybe?

Just then, his phone pinged. He tapped the new message and read. He was hoping he could ask John out for a date this time, only to find out that John had already decided for _him_ or _them._

 _Message Received | John_  
The way I see it, it was very unprofessional of me. What I did. . . It won’t happen again. I apologise.  
Then a new message has popped up again.

_Message Received | John  
You should take a rest, Mr. Holmes. Good night._

Sherlock bit his lower lip. His chest tightened. His hands trembled and ached. Unshed tears forcing his eyes to close. He breathed out, _So be it, John._ Sherlock thought forcing his eyes open as he finally typed his reply.

 _Re: John_  
It was nice meeting you, Mr. Watson. -SH  
John’s reply came in a heartbeat. And it was then that Sherlock realised what he really felt for John isn’t just for distraction. 

_Message Received | John  
As well, Mr. Holmes_

But it could be his destruction.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pardon me for the short update! And a messy one! AO3 acts shitty on this phone I'm using. 
> 
> Unbeta'ed as always.

John sighed heavily as he squints his eyes on the papers on his table. He leans back on his chair checking on the watch on his wrist, by the light of the lamp on his desk it says half past ten. _God, it was late already._

He pressed the heels of his palms over his eyes, raking his fingers through his hair eventually. The recent events on his life suddenly made him feel extra tired. And John could only be thankful that his students are now even more behave than ever. After his morning class, he let the students go home as he retires to his table, finishing the school works and handouts he needed to do.  
Speaking of his students, earlier when he was almost finished filing the signed consent forms for the field trip on Monday, when he received a call from one of the parents of his students. He was informed that their son couldn’t make it to the field trip for some health issues.

_Health issues._

He clicked his tongue, checking on his phone for new messages as he was reminded of a certain person. He knew at this hour, Sherlock was still awake. 

Probably signing some business papers or reviewing them.

It’s been two weeks, since he sent his last text message and _HELL_ , he damned regret every single day after that. He knew it would be difficult. But he do meant making the decision of sorting out the whirlwind of emotions he’s experiencing first hand. It has been indeed awhile.

To add to his self-inflicted suffering, seeing Collin every school day felt like a stab on his heart. Every bit of the child reminds him of Sherlock. But even Collin seemed to lie-low on having a conversation with him. The child even stopped sketching. One morning break when he approached Collin, the kid just gave him a smug look. And at the end of the day, Collin glared at him when he waved ‘goodbye’, leaving Nana Emma flustered and apologising. She even mentioned that Sherlock acts the same. So out of sorts and irritated. When Nana asked if he and Sherlock already talked, John was interrogated for two minutes after saying that he chose to take it _slow_. And it took another minute of firm advises given by Nana on how to handle Sherlock. John was in a daze when Nana said farewell and he just managed a single nod.

Finding nothing on his phone, he went back on what he’s doing. But his mind just wouldn’t let go of the thoughts. He do believe he was the one who ended _whatever it was_. Hence, John felt _guilty._

Sod it. It’s been two weeks, but what reason could he— _Oh._

John imagined a bulb over his head lighting when the idea came to his mind. 

_Two days left._ Collin haven’t passed his consent paper. Nana Emma said she could sign it but she wouldn’t be able to go with them for health reasons. So that leaves Sherlock to go with Collin.  
John grabbed his phone once again from the table and tapped Sherlock’s number. The line connected as John breathe out audibly.

 _Be professional, John._ John says to himself. _And don’t fuck up._

_SH: ”Sherlock Holmes.”_

The same deep baritone voice that John clearly missed greeted on the other line.  
Sherlock’s voice seemed muffled and far away but John didn’t mind. He was just relieved to hear the voice of the man again.

“Uh . . .Hi, Sherlock. It’s . . . John. I just—”

_SH: "Mr. Watson, what a surprise.”_

John felt a hand gripped his chest at the sound of sarcasm in Sherlock’s voice. He dismissed it.

At the other line, John heard Sherlock sigh. 

_SH: "Anything I can do for my brother’s teacher?_

_Really? I want to see you again._ John thought.

“Yes. I, I just want to ask if you’ll be joining Collin on the field trip in two days? His consent paper haven’t—“

_SH: "I don’t know. Maybe I will. Maybe not. Depends on my mood. "_

“Right—“

 _SH: “Anything else then?”_  
He heard a low rumbling of laughter after Sherlock spoke. But he’s sure it wasn’t Sherlock’s. Again, John dismissed it.

John bit his lower lip, closing his eyes. He leaned back on his chair again, the back of his head bumping on the headrest of the chair.

“I . . . I just wanted to ask if you’re amenable tonight—“

Another round of low _manly_ laughter reached his ears from the other line. Now John was sure that the phone call was on loud speaker.

_SH: “Unfortunately, Mr. Watson—with all due respect, I don’t have all the time in the world. I do need to finish some—”_

Then John heard Sherlock gasp softly before continuing, voice slurring.

_“—business proposals as you already know I’m a busy man. Will you kindly get to the point of this phone call besides what we have already discussed? If I’d recall, you already ended everything that borders in between—a relationship— _would be_ —could be—between you . . . and . . . me“_

“Sherlock, where exactly are you?” John asked, his voice firm.

 _SH: “DON’T!”_ Sherlock snapped suddenly, making John confused, though it felt like it wasn’t for him.

“Will you let me finish first?” John snapped back. Although his voice lacks of authority. He felt exhausted all of a sudden.

_SH: “You made that point clear from your last text message.”_

_Shit._ John felt the hurt from Sherlock’s voice.

 _“Right. That last text. I am so sorry. I was honestly busy. I’m sorry if you thought I was dismissing you already. I just—“_ He paused, raking a hand through his hair. “I know. I fucked up, Sherlock. I’m so sorry. I never—I swear. I never intended to make you feel left behind. With the preparations for the school’s field trip and I’ve only got two weeks then. And—”

_SH: “Alright. Apology accepted. Anything else?”_

_“I—What?”_

John heard a soft hiss from the other line and a barely audible _moan?_ And then Sherlock’s voice coming into the line again.

_SH: “Dear God, do I really have to repeat myself? I hate repeating myself—”_

“I mean . . . You forgive me?”

_SH: “Of course.”_

Then John heard a soft grunt.

“What—Sherlock are you taking me seriously?”

_SH: “Well if I’m not you’d be talking to a dead line from the beginning.”_

And then another sound that he knew he remembered in his days of being an army doctor. Hearing a soft hiss coming from his patients when he sticks a needle to their arm.

 _Fucking hell._ John hissed as realisation hits him. Sherlock is somewhere out there right now, getting himself punctured by needles with who-knows-what. And now he thinks that he’s the reason behind it. But before he could ask Sherlock wherever he is, the man beats him to it.

 _SH: “I’ll bring the consent paper on Monday when we arrive. If I remember correctly the bus leaves at six-thirty in the morning, yes?”_ Sherlock said in a hurried voice.

“Yes.” John confirms.

 _“Good—so, until then—”_ replied Sherlock.

“Sherlock! Wait a sec—,“ but it was the long beep tone that answered him.

John cursed as the phone call ended. Now he’ll never be able to sleep. To hell with it—he’ll now end up wondering where would Sherlock be and who are those people he was with?

But Sherlock, _and substances?_ John covered an arm over his eyes. If it’s true, it’s not his business anymore. Because just like Sherlock said, John ended it all already.

A knock on the door, startles John out of his thoughts.

“Good Evening, Mr. Watson.” Anderson’s face looking a bit smug peeked through the door.

“Oh. Good evening.” John greeted back.  
“We’ll be closing the gates. Are you going to stay-in or are you going home— _Sir_?”

Amused, John smiled at the guard. “I apologise for taking this too long, Philip. I’ll just wrap this up and I’ll be gone. Ten minutes—if it’s alright.”

Philip nods. “Sure, Sir. Have a good night.” The guard turns to his back, closing the door before John could ever reply vocally.

“Thanks.” John whispers in the silence of the room.

After stacking the papers carefully and rearranging his table, John stood up flicking the switch of his desk lamp off and shrugging on his jacket. He slings his mailbag over his shoulders as he walked towards the door.

With one more look at his little haven, John opens the door and steps outside, locking it and walks into the night.

••••••••

Sherlock swore under his breath as he put his phone back on his coat pocket. He eyed the alley he was in, searching for the presence of those mad homeless network of his that he paid a visit. One of the homeless’, Virgil, has been suffering from flu the night before. The lad was one of his best assets when he needed help to stalk the personalities his parents wanted to be partner’s with on business. He never liked those bigshots if they visit casinos or indulge in any sort of gambling. Gambling is one of the factors that could be considered as a businessman’s weakness. His father almost got into it if not for Mummy’s strict house rules.

Back to his _problem_ , Virgil couldn’t get out of his makeshift bed so Sherlock was helped by Virgil’s sibling, Vincent. This was the first time that Vincent helped. And when he and his gang came back from successfully following a business prospect, Sherlock just answered John’s phone call. But then, Vincent’s gang shamelessly re-enacted what they had saw from the rooftop of an empty house, across the street. A four storey building that looked empty but on the rooftop, the lads reported seeing what looks like a drug session and a gambling session happening.

The re-enactment was complete with props. Obviously, it includes _syringes, needles, and a safe amount of substance and the noise._

Sherlock half-listens to John on his phone and to the gang. But when the lads made him drink the vodka with a little solution in it. Everything went haywire.

The result, the talk with John, that he _really, REALLY_ wanted to happen. And he messed it all up again. He never intended to sound angry at John but his patience has already worn out by the people around him.

Turning up the collar of his coat and dusting off the evidences from it. He stood up from where he was crouching and left the lads to care for Virgil, with the medicine and packed foods he brought that was made by Nana.

Sherlock isn’t a junkie. But indeed, he used some before. When he needed an easy solution to his boredom. An instant distraction from the stressful long business flights. Or just to feel _high—free,_ even just for hours—even just inside his mind.

He hails a cab back to Nana’s flat thinking of explaining to John what really happened. That it wasn’t what John thought it was. But will John even let him explain? Then on second thought, Sherlock thinks—why would he explain? It wasn’t John’s to trouble.

Everything’s already _done_ before it ever begun.

 _Nothing to lose, then._ —the fact laid crystal clear in front of him—he could never lose, what he never had.


	10. Chapter 10

Monday morning came in a moderate downpour of rain. At the parking lot of Sunny March, colorful umbrellas and little raincoats decorated the waiting area. Some of the kids are playing under the rain, stomping their little shoes and earning a tug from their parents. Others are whining already out of boredom, while some are quietly slumped over their travel bags and sleeping on the laps of their parents under shaded benches. The three school buses with their engines humming are waiting for the teachers currently having a last minute call over the Principal’s office.

It was half past five in the morning, when Sherlock maneuvered his car into the parking lot. The rain just stopped and only occasional soft raindrops are being carried by the wind. He parked the car on his usual spot, killed the engine then eyed his curls on the rear view mirror. Tilting his body, then throwing an arm over the headrest of his seat, he reached his arm to the backseat nudging his little passenger that was snoring quietly.

“Hey, Snorlax. Wake up. We’re here.” Sherlock nudged his brother’s shoulder softly, when Collin didn’t move.

“Collin,” Sherlock called again.

The kid groaned attempting to turn on his back and almost falling over if Sherlock hadn’t almost jumped to the space in the middle of the seats.

“Collin!” Sherlock hissed, then reached out both hands trying to fix his brother’s posture.

“Come now—wake up, or I’ll call Nana. She’ll be mad and you know it. She told you to behave—”

A muffled ‘No’ was all his brother’s reply. Sherlock sighed. After relieving himself from the awkward position, he opened the door and the cool breeze of the after rain caressed his cheeks and ruffled his curls. 

_Great. Just great._ Sherlock muttered in his thoughts.

He closed the door and opened the other. Collin shivered, sneezed, pulled his knees up, and embraced them. 

“Are you alright? Feeling ill?” asked Sherlock in a worried voice. Another muffled ‘No, ‘m fine.’ was Collin’s reply.

Sherlock removed the hoodie he was wearing but after doing so he shivered himself. It was too early, although Collin bathed in a hot tub and Nana made sure it remained warm while she washed Collin, Sherlock guessed his brother was really under the weather. Collin had been sneezing since Saturday evening, first aid cold drops were given and even if it mellowed a bit now Sherlock still couldn’t help but worry. Maybe the travelling back and forth from Nana’s flat to Sussex was taxing to his brother. And Sherlock himself wasn’t feeling quite right. He’d been feverish too after that successful yet frustrating Friday night stroll. Successful because he managed to dismiss any future business plans from Mr. Wyatt, that greying businessman who was apparently a gambling lord and reported it to his parents. Although his mummy disapprove of his investigating methods, she was still thankful. Daddy was even more relieved, he never liked the man. He says something about army instinct, and Sherlock remembered correcting his father that it was called _gut feeling,_ the conversation was dismissed though in the end. 

Sherlock went to sit beside Collin, wrapping his arms on his brother’s hips trying to hoist him up. 

“You’ll be late you know? Aren’t you excited to see the huge willow tree you’ve been pestering me about?”

Collin groaned once again while getting up. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms then yawned. 

“It wasn’t just a willow tree. It was the _oldest_ among that forest.” Collin said in a voice that mimic those of the National Geographic channel narrators.

But Sherlock only half-listened. He frowned as he dressed his brother with his hoodie. It was quite big for him but it was important that Collin would feel warm.  
Collin looked at him like he had grown horns. “What?”

Sherlock shrugged, then remembering what his brother just explained, “I just realised you’ve been watching too much National Geographic Channel.”

Collin stood up clumsily, throwing himself to Sherlock’s arms. Sherlock catched him and they moved out of the car.

“Of course,” Collin muttered, “Or would you rather prefer me watching you sulk over John?”

_What?!_

Sherlock grinned like a ferral cat while slowly tightening his embrace on his little brother’s hips.

“ _That—_ was below the belt, Collin Alfred. Do you want me leaving you to fend for yourself on the woods?” Sherlock said in a low threatening voice as they started walking towards the shaded area. Before his brother could reply Sherlock tickled his ribs. His brother giggled shamelessly, while trying to use his arms as a shield, and they both ended up laughing. Sherlock only stopped when Collin was out of breath. Then he deposited Collin on one of the empty benches, which as soon as his brother was seated, had engaged already on a conversation about wasps to one of his classmate’s parent. Sherlock ruffled Collin’s curls and went back to the car to gather their things.

••••••••

Sherlock eyed his watch, _six-fifteen,_ he glanced on the corner where the teachers would come out from the school grounds connected to the parking lot. It was almost time. He was informed by one of the parents that the teachers were on a last minute meeting and that it should be over by now. Sherlock bit his lower lip and waited.  


_John would be here any minute now._ Sherlock thought as he walked back to where Collin was seated.

True enough, after another five minutes, they all heard low voices conversing and Sherlock saw the guidance counsellor Mike, the two assistant teachers and some new ones from behind, coming out of the parking lot gates. He still haven’t found what he was looking for. Then in the next minute, it was Principal Lestrade, and that teacher Lauren with her arm linked into . . . _John?!—_ and then John was giggling with whatever domestic thing the woman said. Then Lauren slaps John’s biceps playfully and then continued to give John that puppy doe-eyed look. 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed to a slit. And the parents around him and Collin where unconsciously backing away from them as if they could see Sherlock’s aura transforming into a feral cat going for a _kill_. Sherlock could feel the other staff’s gazes and he could even see GC Mike grinning from the bench. Somehow Sherlock thought, was the whole school aware of their previous engagement? 

But if they do, although he and John have been estranged—still, _the nerve of this woman then._

As the two near within earshot, Sherlock stood up from his chair suddenly, flicking the consent paper from his little suitcase in front of John. Lauren jumped at the instant and Sherlock couldn’t help but give a not-so-apologetic smile.

“Mr. Watson,” Sherlock called in a grave voice that made John turn his attention from Lauren to him. John nodded at him with a steady gaze while the man absentmindedly took the paper off his hand. Lauren looked at John, quietly calling the man's name. But John seemed to be rooted on the spot.

Forcing himself not to grin at the success of his _Sherlock Holmes effect_ , Sherlock inhaled audibly, tilting his head to the right side—giving his prospect a full view of the smooth skin of his neck and chest visible through his cream coloured V necked shirt. 

_Let the battle of flirting begin._

He looked up to the almost clear sky with scattered grey clouds, batting his lashes while holding John’s gaze, “Isn’t it a lovely morning?”, he said, diminishing his usual voice by an octave lower. 

Sherlock watched John swallowed before the man replies, eyes unfocused, as if hypnotised from Sherlock’s gaze. 

“Yes, indeed.” Sherlock heard him say, clearing his throat and then nodding once at him before speaking again. “It was a lovely . . . morning.”

Sherlock smiled a little. “Hmm, I say _you_ should take precautions though.” He replied.

“ _Oh?_ And why is that?” John asks in an intrigued voice and Sherlock couldn’t help but feel the triumph from his little impromptu plan. _A bit mean but well-deserved._ He defended himself. But then his mind palace self and conscience started an unwelcome argument—

 _Don’t let jealousy get into you Sherlock,_  
Shut up!  
_You’re going to lose him at this moment._  
Don’t make me laugh.  
_I’m not making you laugh—_

Instead of dealing with his mind, Sherlock seemed to borrow Mr. Grinch’s personality.

“It was rainy.” He said to John, “ _Leeches._ You know, they love to …” Sherlock gestured his long fingers in a wave in front of them, before continuing. “ _unconsciously_ stick themselves on a person. Hoping for a welcome company. _Invading spaces._ ” Sherlock emohasized the last sentence as he looked at the woman beside John. And as if guilty of a crime, Teacher Lauren, slowly unwind her arm from John’s, looking flushed, head bowed down. 

And as if at that moment, a spell casted by Sherlock to John was broken. Sherlock watched as John heaved a breath of . . . 

“It’s alright.” He heard John finally say. And to Sherlock’s horror, John clasped his free hand to Lauren’s, guiding her to one of the buses. Sherlock felt the walls of his heart burst in agony. And as if John wasn’t finished torturing him in front of everyone he called to Sherlock again.

“Oh, and Mr. Holmes,—” Sherlock tilted his head to the left, acknowledging John. 

“I think I could deal with _leeches._ Have encountered them on some remote forests, when I was in the army. At least, they don’t do secrets. And they’d be rid of my thoughts—unlike, some . . .” John trailed off, and Sherlock waited patiently for the agonizing part as it came like a whisper.  
“Unlike someone else . . . “ 

And with that the pair went up to the bus. Surroundings came back to life. Sherlock can now hear the roaring buses and the chattering of the students and the parents as if nothing had happened. As if Sherlock was inside his own bubble and it was choking him in. 

The people passed by him, their arms brushes. His shoulders bumped theirs but somehow he couldn’t _move_.

**You’re asking why you’re making me laugh.**

Sherlock mentally asked his conscience. 

_Yes._ a reply sounded from the corners of his mind.

**Well, that’s simple—because he was never mine.**

Of what seemed like long hours of silence inside his mind, a pair of small arms wrapped around his hips and it was how Sherlock brought himself back to reality. Quietly, Collin swayed them together, like dancing. Sherlock smiled a little, bowed his head down to kiss the top of Collin’s head. 

The two buses already left and the only one remaining waited for the brothers to get in. Collin dragged his brother by the hand as they walked towards the bus.

••••••••

John exhaled audibly as he looked outside the window. The city was now gone and the side of the roads were now transformed into pine trees and fences.  
“Well???” A voice says to him and John felt someone sat at the foamed seat beside him. The reflection he saw on the window shows him that it was Lauren, grinning at him like mad.

“He just compared me into a _leech._ And _oh God_ , he was so adorable when jealous and _sexy_ , and JOHN WATSON!—“ Lauren slaps his arm and he flinches. “You’re so damn lucky!” Lauren exclaimed at him like it was nothing.

It was then that John spared her a glance. After the program, he _came out_ to Lauren, because at that time, he really thought of wooing Sherlock and that he was really attracted to the guy. Lauren, being a good soul, understood. And she was honest enough to tell John, that her crush will remain. And so, they remained good friends.

John shook his head apologetically. “God, I’m so sorry about that—“ 

Lauren smacks him playfully on the back. “Shut up. He was gorgeous. How can you not forgive those eyes? And God that neck—Uuugh! If we weren’t friends I’d jumped at him and snog him senseless.”

John looked at his friend incredulously. “Seriously?” Then John remembers this woman had a crush on him. 

“Thought you had a crush on me?” John asks jokingly.

“What? I’ve forgotten that already. He’s even more gorgeous than me,” says Lauren with a laugh when he saw John’s mouth dropped open.

“Well that’s fast, “John replies in disbelief. Lauren just grinned at him.

“He’s not that . . . mean you know. I think—“

“Yes, I know. I guess he’s jealous. But if he’s my boyfriend I’d go gaga over him—“

John chuckles and says playfully, “Watch it, I’m the prospect.”

Lauren laughed. “Yeah right, as if you two are in good terms. You dated him but you haven’t even kissed him.”

“It was a first date!” John exclaimed that made his colleague laugh.

“Oh c’mon John, when Barry dated me, we hit it already, we’re married after two years.”

John sighed. “This is different, Lauren. We couldn’t even marry if . . . if it comes to that.”

John was aware of the consequences, majority of the human population still thinks homosexuality is an incurable disease. But one couldn’t help but hope that someday the word equality would define what it really meant.

“You’ve got a point,” Lauren resigns, before adding, “But still, you can’t just give up. Me and Barry . . . that’s what we did. Six years and . . . It didn’t seem like we’re really serious at all.”

John looked at Lauren and reached out for her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. Lauren smiles at him and squeezes his hand back before he lets go. 

“Anyway, you’re going to have to ask Mr. Holmes for another date John. I’ll even help. “

Lauren, then, stood up from her seat, hands on her hips as she stares on the scenery outside the window. 

John looks up at her. “What? Like right now?”

When Lauren didn't answer he turned to what she was looking at the window.

_Beautiful._

The bus rounded on a corner. From the bus, John saw a wide field of green grass with horses galloping around it. Black, brown, white and some mixed breed. The other teachers were also looking out with mobile devices on their hands snapping photos of the graceful creatures. They pass another batch of pine trees, and then another pasture with goats and sheep. They were rounding another corner when the driver stopped announcing that they’ll be refilling petrol, and politely asked the passengers if they wanted to stretch their legs outside or to breathe some fresh air. 

When John looked back at Lauren, her colleague was nowhere to be found. John was left alone again to his own thoughts. He sighed as he leaned back on his seat, deciding to take a nap. He pulls an eye mask from his duffel bag, placing it over his head then on his eyes. He was about to prop himself on a comfortable sleeping position when a knock on the tempered window catches his attention. He removes the patch from his eyes and leans to the window to see who it was. 

It was Lauren, grinning at him while pointing to someone over the fence. John shook his head and smiles at Lauren. He looks over to where Lauren was pointing, and there he sees Sherlock. The man was sitting sideways, hands perched on both sides, balancing himself on top of the fence. Those ocean green eyes staring blankly across the green fields. Collin was seated near Sherlock’s feet, on a bundle of rocks on the grass, sketching on his notepad. 

John marvels at the sight of Sherlock. For those dark curls being ruffled by the gentle breeze. He found himself fighting the urge to move forward—to be near to Sherlock, to be able to wound his fingers through those glorious curls— 

John was about to stand up, when Sherlock hops down from the fence and just like that John watches as they found each other’s gaze. Sherlock smiles at him, a genuine one, John can tell. He swallowed the lump forming on his throat, and smiles back.

 _Beautiful, indeed . . ._ He thought.

And for now, seeing Sherlock like it was the first time, it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If I ever overdo anything from this work, or if I ever lack of something. Just think of it as the worst fanfic ever written. But I have to admit, I'm having fun throwing fictional things, persons and places all over it. AU for the win. :p
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments are well-appreciated.


	11. Chapter 11

To John’s wonder, the accommodation was of high standards. He actually thought that the school would only rent cottages for the staffs. He didn’t even expected to be able to rest and sleep along on the same inn as their guests. The place was grand, almost looks like a mansion with the walls and gate and wide parking lots. The two storey building function called The Old Inn was situated close to the hillside. It was surrounded by wide red bricked walls enclosed by a red gate with ivy plants. A tarpaulin on the arch of the gate says, _‘Welcome Sunny March School!’ from The Old Inn Family._  


The buses parked and the kids with their parents walked inside the inn with happy faces finally reaching their destination. The owner Mrs. Hartswich, a plump woman in her fifties with a silver hair tied in a tight bun, turns out to be a family friend of Principal Lestrade. She personally offered the sanctuary of her business, closing it exclusively for three days for the school’s field trip. She happily welcomed them, saying that she loved kids and it was always a joy to see some. She graciously offered cups of tea and biscuits giddily pushing John along with the other teachers towards the living room. The valet and lady’s maid took care of the luggage of the guests and the kids were ushered by the assistant teachers to the playroom.  


As each of the teachers settles themselves on the couches available John excuses himself to find the loo. He was on his way when a hand from behind suddenly grabs his arm, startling him. 

“What the—“

“Boo!” A familiar female voice squeaks to his ear.

John’s eyes widens when he sees who the culprit was. It was his sister Harriet.  
“Harriet?!” He exclaims.

Harry beams at him, her shock of long curly dark blonde hair bounces as she lunges herself to him for a hug. “Hello, Johnny! It’s so good to see you!” 

John confused and happy hugs his sister, in which Harry responds tightly.

“ _Why—WHAT are you—How—_ “

Harry smirks at him. “Still couldn’t finish a sentence Watson?”

John shakes his head as he chuckles and taps Harry’s back. “Oi, piss off. _Seriously._ ”

“Right. Mike called and he said that there’s a vacant spot so, here we are—“  
His sister explains as she let go of him.  


“You mean, ’here **I** am?’”

John narrows his eyes as he looks at his sister now biting her lower lip, looking down at her feet.

“No. Really, John. _We_ . . . I’ve got someone _with_ me.” 

John didn’t doubt for a second on whom Harry had brought. “Oh, you’ve brought Clara?” The thought made John smile. He haven’t talked to her sister-in-law in a long while since Harry last phoned him. “That’s great then. We could hang out after my work here. That’s in three days. You could stay—“ He stops as he notices Harry’s unusual silence. Then somehow John knew it wasn’t her sister’s partner that she had brought with her. And as if to answer him, the wooden twin oak door opens with a loud creak from the metal hinges breaking the relaxing sound of nature around them, and reveals a tall slender woman, in her fit velvet turtle neck party dress matched with red stilettos, her lips painted crimson, her dark blue eyes meticulously eyeing the lobby, her silky long black hair swaying in the wind. 

_Shit._ It was Carrie. They are of the same age and _was_ John’s childhood sweetheart. But when the Watson family left their previous dwelling he forgot about her already. It wasn’t something he was serious of anyway. But when John was in college taking up medicine, Carrie, who’s studying Fashion Design founds him and then never left him—practically tormenting all those girls that would look at John. Eventually, they graduate. And John was stupid enough before to drink a mix of different wine and vodka, urged by Carrie’s friends. They came home to her flat after the graduation party. And the next morning, John with a skull-cracking headache was now a star of the university. News says, he and Carrie shared a one night (BUT-REALLY-THOUGH-nothing-actually-happened-BUT-AGAIN-Carrie-gossips-John-took-her) stand. Luckily, it was the call of the army that saved John. Apparently, Carrie didn’t want war heroes or invalided soldiers, much more—when she learned the reason why John was dismissed of service. 

John shook his head from the thoughts. He watches as Carrie proceed to the reception area talking to the staff behind the desk. But he never missed the valet who’s standing near the door eyeing the woman, looking like a predator. 

John groans. _Dear God, why now?!_

Again he looks at Harry, now, fumbling with her fingers bending them nervously that he swats them for he worries she might truly break them.  
“Oh, Harriet.” John groans again. Then he feels Harry reaching a hand to his arm guiding him further in a corner, shielding him from the visitor’s eyes. “I’m really sorry!” She exclaims. “She wouldn’t budge! She’s totally begging me if she could come!”

John exhales heavily through his nose, before speaking in a low voice. “ _This_ is a school field trip, Harriet. I’m sure you’re aware of that?”  
Harry’s eyes widens, “Of course, I bloody know that. That’s why she’s here too. She has a distant cousin studying at Sunny March, a preparatory student. Truth is, she’s not supposed to be with me but we met at the airport and then everything that’s supposed to be perfect has now been ruined. And God knows how she learned that you’re working here too. She’s over the moon by it. But when I asked if she would look after her cousin she just ignored me.”

John fixes his sister a look, and involuntarily gazes at the woman. The woman who finally found what she’s been looking for. _Him._

John shakes his head as he comes up with a plan. “Alright, this is what we’ll do—“ Then he’s thoroughly distracted as he sees Sherlock, walking towards them, freshly showered, in a purple shirt, black trousers, camping shoes, eyes and fingers on his phone. 

_Shit._

John curses inside his head again and again. And when Sherlock was five steps away from them, he calls him, just as Carrie calls his name. And as the sound of his name reaches Sherlock’s ears, he watches as Sherlock lifts his face from the phone, eyes found his, in time as Carrie holds his face with her long fingers, and kisses him fully on the lips. His hands involuntarily snakes on Carrie’s slim waist as she assault his lips. After almost a minute of gob-smacking kiss, Carrie lets go of his lips with a pop. She rests her arms on John’s shoulder then sensually smiles at him. John felt like a pair of cymbals clanged through his head leaving him in a daze that he almost forgot Sherlock. He slowly turns his head on the spot where Sherlock was standing and sees the man staring at them blankly.

_Double shit._

••••••••

“John . . .” The woman _purrs_ John’s name.

Sherlock mentally counts the seconds of how long he could stare at John and this _woman_ that obviously had a _history_ with the teacher before the clawing pain of jealousy eats him for good. And John, John who was just a few hours ago, was smiling at him like he was even more beautiful than the scenery around them, had his hands on the hips of the woman, eyes unfocused and clearly in a daze. Sherlock suddenly felt the jolt of _hatred_.

_I hate you, John Watson._

The woman who was now thumbing John’s upper lip to remove the evidence of her havoc _misses_ a spot under John’s lower lip. A cliché idea flashed on Sherlock’s mind like a bulb lighting above his head. He quietly closed the remaining steps between him and John as he slowly tugs John’s right arm away from the woman’s hips and turns the man facing him. He watched as John startles as if he was awakened on a deep sleep and turns his blue eyes to him. He feels John’s gaze intensely boring to his and he tries _really_ hard to return them with the same intensity. Suddenly, his throat felt dry. He had never been _this_ close to John, a breath away from him, John’s warm skin beneath his palm. He could _feel_ John all over him. It stirs the unspoken desire he’s been hiding. But in all that, he holds him firmly.

 _Keep it cool, Holmes._ Sherlock mentally scolds himself.

A minute of holding John’s gaze he lowers his eyes on the man’s lower lip as he casually traces the sensitive skin under it. His eyes forcefully leaves John and finds the woman’s clouded with confusion and shock. 

“You’ve missed a bit.” He says to the woman calmly. His own controlled deep voice surprises him.  
In a jiff, Sherlock lowers his hand as the other let go of John’s arm. He excuses himself and was even more surprised when the other woman, with a long curly blonde hair snatches his arm, waves at John, then drags him towards the door. 

“Harriet Watson, Johnny’s younger sister by two years.”

Sherlock hears the woman beside him introduce herself.

“Sherlock Holmes,” He replies curtly.

“I know, _curlylocks_ ,” Harry says, smiling softly. Her hazel brown eyes filled with amusement. “When John and I are having a conversation on the phone or e-mails, he wouldn’t stop talking about you.”

Sherlock was torn in between being stunned that John was talking about him to his sister or the fact that he was just called by a nickname. He smiles back to Harriet anyway, and it was a genuine smile. And then Harry says something even more surprising.

“You know. I think I’d love for you to be my brother-in-law.”

••••••••

The cafeteria was full of kids running here and there and the poor parents that were trying to catch them. A mixture of giggles and occasional sermons, the cafeteria felt lively as the Sunny March playground. Even the cooks and servers were smiling and working at ease with smiles on their faces just by seeing the kids.

Surprisingly, Harriet never pushed to discuss what happened earlier, and Sherlock was grateful for it. How could he even discuss the level of possessiveness hiding from that gesture? After the thing that he did, Sherlock felt the urge to drink five cups of coffee. But instead, Harriet, who never left her side ordered those servings of tea and some snacks.  
“I just want to make it clear that Carrie and John we’re not a _thing_ anymore. I _swear._ ” Harriet blurts out. 

Sherlock didn’t answer. By now, John’s sister had obviously deduced that he was smitten over her brother. He remains silent as he watches Harriet dugs a spoon and fork on the serving of vegetable salad and sandwiches in front of them.

“God, these looks glorious.” She exclaims. “And probably tastes good too, It’s been awhile since I had salad.”

Sherlock shrugs, while he sips his tea. “I assume it tastes the same as the others. But the cook says these are their best-sellers.”

Harriet nods as she tastes the food on her plate. She then looks up and really _looks_ at Sherlock, just like what John had done earlier minus the intensity and passion. 

“So.” She says, after a while of munching on her food.

“So?” Sherlock echoes, raising an eyebrow.

“ _So_ what now?”  
Harriet repeats impatiently, as swerves another spoonful on her mouth again.

“Well, we’re on a field trip. And my brother—“ Sherlock starts, then Harriet lifts her head up excitedly.

“Oh yeah, where’s your little brother? I saw the program photos. He looks adorable! You three are.”

Sherlock bites his lower lip as he hears the word _three_ and smiles. A hint on how Harry’s eyes looks at him says that she had meant him, Collin and John.

“He’s probably doing their activities now with his classmates. John’s their homeroom teacher.”

 

Harry hums in reply, “Can we watch them?”

Sherlock nods, “Actually, we can. I just want to hang out here for a bit. They’re not doing outdoor activities until the last day.”

And with that, the conversation surprisingly went smooth as normal, Harriet talked about their parents openly at him like they were an estranged family just catching up. Sherlock felt a sympathy towards the siblings when Harriet mentioned about their childhood. Then she talked about all of the silly things that John did when they were young that Sherlock found himself chuckling then laughing along with John’s sister. But she left out the _Carrie history_. Then she talked about her partner Clara. When they have finished, they went to the makeshift playroom and found the kids already packing to retire for the night. Although the kids already had their supper, Sherlock was informed that Collin wouldn’t eat on his own and that his brother’s cough had somehow escalate. Harriet with a truly genuine heart, helped him feed Collin and made him drink a dose of cough syrup. He thanked her afterwards.  
By the time Harriet retired on her room, Sherlock was lying beside Collin smoothing his forehead with a hand.

“I wonder if I made the right decision of bringing you here.” Sherlock murmurs in a low voice, “I should have turned the car around and took you back home.”  
Collin shifts beside him, curling his little arm on his waist while pillowing the other on his cheek.  
“I don’t want home. Boring.” Collin says sleepily after a rough belting of cough.

He soothes a palm over his brother’s back calming the coughs, “I know. But look at you. Mummy wouldn’t be pleased. Nana Emma would worry.”

“Mummy . . .” He hears his brother whisper in between sleep. “Rarely is _home._ Sherry _is_ home.” 

A tug on his chest makes Sherlock smile painfully as he whispers back. “I’m trying to _be_.”

And he hugs Collin tightly as his body settles to sleep, but in between those hours he thought he heard Collin murmured the words he was never used to here. “I know you’re always there. Thank you.”

As the night deepens, Sherlock dreams of that night when he was of Collin’s age, sick with fever and cough. His mother left that morning for a two-day business trip, leaving him to Nana Emma’s care. Thunder boomed and strips of lightning flashed through the open windows of his room that evening and little Sherlock was left stunned and afraid, hands smacked on both ears, hiding under his bed with a 40 degree body temperature. He was found by Nana Emma unconscious, pale, breathing raggedly around midnight when he failed to show up on supper. The family doctor was called, he was given fluids and medicines and by miracle of all miracles he was saved. And he pleaded to Nana, not to mention it to his Mummy. That almost, _almost—_ the fever took his life, because he doesn’t want his mother to worry. 

When Sherlock woke up with a jolt at dawn, he was in tears. He finds Collin’s arm beside him and lies back again. He hugs his brother tightly as he tries to calm himself back to sleep. Later he feels a little hand crawling on his waist squeezing him lightly in a reassuring way and the soft brush of curls on his neck.  
And Sherlock was able to sleep again.

••••••••

The second day went by without further distractions of nightmares for Sherlock. A PTC was held, guidance and security discussed. The parents and guardians were continuously briefed by the teachers to look after their children when they proceed to the outdoor activities for the last day. Sightseeing using boats was crossed out on their activity list for the river that lies at the end of the protected forest was unstable at this season. It had been raining the week before and Mrs. Hartswich agrees that it could be dangerous. Although it was reconsidered when the weather cleared out that night. They were able to set camp fires on the Inn’s premises that lasted only for an hour for the children were not encouraged to stay awake late. Some of the parents bonded, those who have found company with each other discussing first aids on dealing with coughs and colds and other primary diseases that Sherlock found quite interesting. Half of the reason was because it was John who was discussing it to them over the camp fire. His small built glowing against the light of the dancing flame. John who was obviously catching his eyes that Sherlock couldn’t stand not to listen.

All in all Sherlock found field trips much bearable than business _dates._

When the last day came Collin was well enough in the morning to go with his classmates and play around. It was lunchtime when the proceedings of the activity was announced. And Collin was sporting a grin on his face when Sherlock held his hand as they walk the trail towards the forest. Mr. Lestrade said that hopefully after an hour and a half of walking the cleared paths they would be able to set sight on the makeshift cottage just around the river. 

They walked and walked, some of the kids asked their parents for a piggyback ride due to exhaustion. The male teachers offered help to the mothers then carried the kids in their arms. Collin then let’s go of his hand running at the end of their line. He watches as Collin tugs John’s arms gesturing to lift him up. Sherlock hears John laugh as he lifts Collin to his arms. It made him smile. Then he gazes at the back of John where the woman named Carrie, who wears John’s pyjamas and a fit white shirt, with a silly beach hat over her head erases the smile on his face. But then a gust of wind blows towards them and the silly hat flew off Carrie's head. She reaches out for it but fails and almost falls slightly on her feet if not for Harriet holding her up made Sherlock smile again. He shakes his head lightly as he hears the grunts and tantrums of the woman calling on John to hold her steady and to find her hat. He tunes out her voice as he turns his focus on the people around him and the beauty of nature. 

In front of him, Little Tom was hunched on Jess’ arms. Leila was carrying Bennet and Teacher Lauren carries a sleeping Ginger. Speaking of Teacher Lauren, Sherlock was approached by her the other day during the seminar making it clear to him that she and John doesn’t have anything in common and that John was short, not _her_ type, in which Sherlock laughed.

They were almost nearing in the clearing where the cottages for visitors were located. The wind blew like it was singing. Sherlock could hear its calm whisper joined by the chorus of birds, the rustles of dried leaves and a distant growl of thunder. But somehow along the soothing graceful sonata of nature, it was Harriet’s voice that borders with anger, frustration, mixed with fear and panic that reached his ears instantly— _”Where. Is. Collin?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not what I have mapped out for the eleventh chapter but I can't do anything when I'm starting to type and my heart and mind falls into that synchronicity despite the messed up grammars.
> 
> ALSO, thank you so much for being with me until now. And there are still readers wow. I cannot express in English how thankful I am to ALL of you guys! I... My English went with this chapter. Hahaha.  
> So, amidst the vomiting and coughing and a dripping nose, I give you the eleventh chapter. Thank you for the overwhelming patience! I'll self-check for wrong spelling later. I cannot keep up with my fingers most of the time. Apologies!


	12. Chapter 12

John feared the worst when he saw Harry’s hand gesturing wildly in the air while arguing with Carrie. 

_Dear God, Harriet, what is it this time?_

He watched for a moment trying to interpret what was going on, the shouting sometimes getting loud and then a whisper. Like Harry and Carrie’s voices were being carried by the wind around him. Then Harry’s voice escalates even more.

_Bloody hell. They sure are going to get attention._

Good thing, half of the party moved forward already. If they could hear a hint of shouting it might’ve been muffled. 

Even John couldn’t hear his sister clearly for he had gone quite far looking for Carrie’s hat. The hat was blown away by a strong gust of wind not about some minutes ago. 

_Where was that hat anyway?_ John mentally asked himself.

He looks at the watch on his wrist, minding the time he’s been gone. 

Just then, a sudden movement from his left side made him jumped. He turns and was surprised to see it was little Tom. The kid’s lips are trembling, eyes unfocused. The kid is scared.

John crouched down to Tom’s eye level as his hand removes the smudge of mud from the kid’s reddening cheeks.

“Hey, Tom.” He says softly. “What happened to you? Where’s Teacher Jess?” John asked. Earlier, Jess was carrying Tom in his arms. He’d known Jess for months and was sure that his colleague wouldn’t left a kid unattended.

Tom could understand enough but not that much. The kid blinks and points to the shadowy part of the woods. John stood up taking Tom’s hand in his, looking at where Tom pointed. It was too dark over there. The light was totally obscured by the trees. 

_What on earth was Jess doing there?_ John mentally asks again. As if to answer him, John felt Tom tugging at the hem of his jacket. It was only then that John had a good look on the kid. Tom’s pyjamas was covered with mud. It was still a bit wet so it must have been a few minutes ago. His little hands were covered with mud too.  
But the answer that John receives with a shaking breath was more than enough.

“Cowinn . . .” Tom says that sounded more than a whimper.

John catches his breath as realisation dawned upon him. 

_Dear God, No._

He scoops Tom in his arms as he runs towards the others shouting Mike’s name.

Without question, Mike came running towards them, catching his breath.

“John! Dear God, there you are! We’ve been looking for you guys! Greg was getting worried the group just reached the cott—What happened?” Mike asks frantically, as his gaze turns to Tom. “What happened to Tom?”

“I need to—I” John stammers. Collin. _Collin._ He _need_ to get to Collin. He need to _find_ Collin. 

He hastily leaves Tom to Mike’s arms, ignoring his friend calling his name and runs back to where Harriet and Carrie are.

When John reached them, it was Carrie who noticed him first. And the second that their eyes met, Carrie was down on her knees already, covering her face with her hands. He hears Harriet mutter a curse.

“For God’s sake! Don’t act!” His sister exclaims.

“Harriet!” John snaps at his sister as he slipped his arms to Carrie’s.

“What is going on?” He asks Carrie. Then he remembers Collin. “Where is Collin—“

“That’s what’s going on!” Harriet interrupts. “Collin’s missing! Because of that—” 

Whatever his sister was about to say, he shuts her with a look. Then goes back to Carrie talking to her calmly.

“What exactly happened? What did you do?” John asks anxiously. But Carrie remained silent, her shoulders hunched, face tucked away on his collar shirt.

“Carrie, _please._ Look at _me_. I left him in your care, Carrie. I trusted you to do what an adult would do. Now let’s do this again— _Where is Collin?”_ ”

With his execution of words, Carrie must’ve felt the burden of responsibility that John tries to convey. Carrie bites her lower lip, her eyes brimming with tears, before she speaks.  
“I just, I just wanted my hat back again—Did you find it—I want to get out of this place!?”

Harriet huffs and screams, “Just answer the damn question! Where is Collin?!”

John cursed inwardly. This is all his fault. He shouldn’t have left Collin with the girls. And Harriet shouting makes his head throb with pain. He was about to snap at the women when he hears the rustle of leaves behind him and the sound of that familiar baritone voice bordering fear and confusion. 

“What do you mean, _‘Where is Collin?’_ ”

John closed his eyes, fear gripping his chest. “Sherlock—“

The man turns to him and asks in a calm measured voice.“ _Why?_ Collin isn’t _with you,_ John?”

_Fuck._

“Sherlock—“Harriet intervenes.

“ _Don’t._ ” Sherlock says to Harriet in a firm voice, before turning to him again. If John hadn’t been in the army, he would’ve been scared to death at the sight of Sherlock’s hard stare. It was empty of warmth, as it was directed to him. “Where is my brother, John?” 

John swallowed the lump on his throat. He was about to answer but to his surprise, Carrie gasps and answers in a small voice, “He … Collin went to follow John to find my hat. I—I told him to follow John, where he went. That … John would be pleased. And then, John came back—without my hat,” Carrie explained the latter in a voice full of disappointment. Then John felt Carrie’s lips below his ear as she murmurs, “I knew this was a bad idea...” 

John huffs while his sister swore loudly. He turns to look at Sherlock who was now looking broken and afraid. This was even more alarming than what the man showed when he shut John out with a phone call, the night of their _first_ date. He wanted to comfort Sherlock in every way that he can. 

He watched the man closed his eyes. John felt Sherlock would explode any minute now. But the Sherlock that surfaced when those sea-green eyes opened again, John thought, was a _different_ one. Sherlock looked at him as if they were the only ones standing, facing each other except that John felt he was standing on the edge of a cliff, with Sherlock holding his hand and just waiting to let it go.

“Nana Emma said, I should _trust_ you.” He heard the man say, every word tinged with disappointment. “I should _believe_ in you. I should _give_ you a _chance._ And I did. But then _this …_ ” Sherlock gestured in between him and Carrie.

It was clear that Sherlock was talking about _them._

“God, Sherlock—“He starts, but holding a palm up, Sherlock shuts him. In the corner of his eyes, Carrie is looking down on her feet fumbling with her hands, unsure of what to do. Across them, Harriet watches him with sadness in her eyes.

After a stretch of silence, Sherlock draws a breath, fixing him a look.

“IF _anything_ happens to my brother, John. I—“Sherlock continues, voice breaking. He held Sherlock’s stare making sure his eyes conveys the apology that he couldn’t voice out. “No matter how much I—“Sherlock paused, eyes widening, mouth opens and closes, contemplating. As if he just realised what he was going to say would be inappropriate. John watched as Sherlock swallows the next words to silence.

Still, John waited. He had accepted the fact that he’s in love with Sherlock. That it was no longer a simple attraction or what his body desires. And if the next words are the ones John silently treasures in his heart, it would be enough. But one can never choose their heart’s desire over a familial love. 

“I will _never_ forgive you, Mr. Watson.” Sherlock’s words cut through the wind with same intensity that drove him back to reality.

He strains a nod. 

And with that Sherlock turns on his heels and strode off farther into the woods leaving the rest of them in silence.

John wanted to follow Sherlock and apologise but thought of doing it later. First things first, he needs to take Harriet and Carrie on the cottage with the others. And then he’ll help Sherlock find Collin. Then he’ll deal with this storm between him and Sherlock. Sherlock clearly voiced out that John had a chance. Sherlock is ready to trust him. But then John fails him by not making his intentions clear and now he lost Collin. And as much as John hates himself on saying this, it seems Collin was really the only one who could help him now with Sherlock. He won’t use Collin, _no_. He loved the child. It’s the fact that Collin was his responsibility. What kind of teacher was he?

 _“I think, John. That you are going to be a good teacher.”_

Mrs. Hudson’s voice in his thought reminded him when they first met. 

John looks up at the sky as the puffs of grey clouds and the distant roll of thunder warns him of the impending rain. He shook his head lightly, gesturing for Harriet and Carrie to follow him.

“I don’t think I’m even a good man.” John murmurs to himself as they walk the path towards the cottages.

••••••••

Sherlock walked and walked. To his estimate, it’s been an hour or so when he left John and the others. He felt so tired. His sleeves already soaked by the droplets of rain. He hadn’t even noticed the rainshower. His shoes are made for travel but the turn of the weather and the forest’s natural damp atmosphere made the decaying leaves and mud stick to its soles adding to the weight he had to carry. His body shivers as a gust of cold breeze embraced him. He mentally curses himself for not carrying his coat. But at least, the fact that his brother still wears his jacket made a comforting thought.

It wasn’t the first time that Collin got lost. About two years ago, when they went to camping, him, Collin (was three that time), Mycroft and their parents. Collin got lost when Sherlock too busy was arguing with Mycroft on the most efficient way of setting up a tent. When their parents arrived on the site, their mother holding a picnic basket, father holds the portable grill, Collin was nowhere to be found. What saved them from worrying was the tracker that Sherlock invented and Mycroft perfected. But now, Collin doesn’t have a tracker and Collin was still sickly last night. _Anything_ could happen and there was no way that Sherlock could predict it nor prevent it from happening. 

He was pulled out of his thoughts when his shoes stepped on a huge chunk of what seemed to be a charcoal. He dabbed his finger on the now wet coal stick and smiled. He looked on the trees around him then on the lower part of their trunks in which he imagines Collin leaving traces of the charcoal and grinned as he saw that there are indeed lines, numbers, letters freshly sketched. His eyes searched for other black lines and saw them further on the trees going south.

“Oh, God. I know you are a genius, little brother.” Sherlock murmurs to no one as he pick the chunk of coal.

With a new hope burning inside him, Sherlock continued walking. Marveling at the different codes and images his brother sketched. He traced them again so when he finds Collin, the sketches would lead them back. The rain that was droplets earlier has now turned into the sensation of sharp knives stabbing his back. After he passed on the eleventh tree the lines vanished completely. The trunks soaked in the rain.

_Damn._

Fear crept on Sherlock’s chest, he was too busy tracing his brother’s sketches that he hadn’t paid much attention on the way he was going. His thoughts focused on finding his brother when the sketches stopped. Walking a bit further, Sherlock forced his ears on listening for sounds.

“Collin!”

He stepped on huge roots, climbed on low branches, as he shout Collin’s name. Then he repeats. But there was no response. It was for another five minutes when Sherlock heard a rustling sound just around the bush behind him, relief flowed instantly as he thought of Collin. He jumped down from being perched on a branch. But as his feet touches the ground something moving fast came out of the bushes and Sherlock ducked his head in panic. He stayed still for a while, hunched, eyes closed. He prayed silently that whatever kind of animal was this it would be a fast kill. Just when he was about to pass out he hears a voice. A trembling voice.

“S-She.. S-Sherry?” came the voice. And he knew that voice.

_Oh!_

“Collin!” He was about to get up when his brother shook his head slowly and pointed behind him.

“What?” He mouthed, turning his gaze to look behind Collin. Now _that_ was the fast thing that was moving.  
It was a wild boar, eyes red, saliva dripping. Its other tusk was broken. 

Then he looks at Collin, his brother remains seated on the ground, when he noticed what his brother was holding. It was something white on his right hand and the black charcoal on the other. It hit him that _he_ had Collin _caught._

His brother was running into safety and Sherlock had him caught. _Oh my god._

Sherlock gasps. Slowly he gets up to a sitting position, his gaze drifting from Collin and to the beast. _Forest Survival 101: If faced with a wild animal, what would you do?_ Sherlock thought. His mind speeding. He puts a finger to his lips silently asking his brother not to make a sound. Collin’s messed up curls bounce slowly up and down. A nod.

 _Distraction._ He needs a distraction.

Sherlock put his right hand behind him, grabbing aimlessly at anything. He breathes a sigh of relief as his hand touches a large part of what seemed to be a broken branch. He holds his brother’s gaze, it pains him that Collin’s eyes were unfocused and completely clouded with fear. He wanted to run to him and hold him, murmur comforting words. But right now, he grins at his brother hopefully, reassuringly, he could make Collin feel safe not to mention the fact that the beast was just ten paces away from his brother.

Sherlock breathe slowly, puffing air in front of him. When a murder of crows passed by above them cawing, Sherlock took it as a signal. With all his strength, he throws the broken branch on the side of the boar.

Now distracted, Sherlock shouts, “Collin run! NOW!” 

His voice boomed around them, startling even himself. Collin scrambles to his feet and runs towards Sherlock. He scoop up his brother and he ran and ran and ran until he couldn’t hear anything else other than his heart beating wildly on his chest. He couldn’t breathe, he could feel the air running out of his lungs. His arms felt so tired and his knees are more than ready to buckle. The one thing that keeps him focused was the purpose of getting Collin into safety. He was too focused that he didn’t noticed the huge root as he trips. 

The world turns upside down as he stumbles. He felt Collin fell from his arms and hits the ground with a grunt. Sherlock closed his eyes as he slide down continuously. He felt dizzy, why isn’t he stopping? Why is the world turning so fast? He had a lot more of questions when he finally heard Collin’s trembling voice calling him on his adorned nickname. It came from somewhere above him.

“Sherry!”

Why does it sound so far away?

“Sherry! Hold on!”

 _Hold on?_ And Sherlock does hold on. He tried to grab on something, but fails, hand still slipping.

“I c-can’t!” He choked in reply, leaves fills his mouth. He spits them and hears his name again. He wanted to shout back. He tried to fight the force of being dragged down. His arms stretched in front of him. He tried to push himself up. 

He tried gripping again on something but he continues to slide down further. Somewhere above him Collin’s voice calling him turns into a sob.

_No, don’t cry, Collin. I’ll be fine. I just need to—_

Sherlock commands his hand to grip on something, and then finally, a vine that was easy enough to grab on was now curled into his hands. The thorns scratched his face, his arms but he couldn’t care less. Gripping hard on the vine, he felt like he was floating. His legs dangling in the air. He opens his eyes and hears the sound of water rushing below. He looks down and curses as nausea hits him almost losing making him lose consciousness. He tightens his grip but the thorns from the vine prickles his fingers. He looks up at his palms, they were bleeding already. This is bad, if the bacteria gets into his wounds, infection would follow through. And Sherlock can only imagine what kind of bacteria inhabits the forest. 

Lost in his thought, he almost missed the new voices shouting above him. One was a firm, strong voice calling him. He chuckled to himself as tears flowed his eyes, relief coating his body. That familiar voice he prayed silently he wished to hear.

“Sherlock!”

He tried to clear his throat. It hurts but he had to try. “John!” He croaked. His voice hoarse. 

He could hear the voices above him panic, and along he could pick out John’s sigh of relief.

The rain started pouring again and it was even stronger. Its onslaught felt like daggers on his face. His arms had been shaking from being stretched. He couldn’t take it anymore. He thought of Collin above scared. He thought of failing on protecting him. He thought of his parents and Mycroft being disappointed. What would they do to Sherlock if something happens to Collin? Considering they could find his body? Maybe they would just throw out in Thames whatever part of his body they'd find. Sherlock isn’t much of a religious person but he prayed to any deity present around him that John would get his brother into safety. 

_John._ He thought of the last time he saw him. He was angry, and they haven’t even talked or anything. He missed him already. His gentle voice, his caring hands, the warmth in his eyes. He thought of the last words he almost said to John earlier. He should’ve been brave because he did meant it. But the situation they’re in prevented him. He wanted to say it while looking into John’s eyes with nothing but love in his eyes. Yes. He loves John Watson. He is in love with John Watson. Sherlock gasps audibly. He fought back a sob as he felt his hand gripping the vine weaken. 

“Sherlock! Don’t let go!” John’s voice above sounded like a broken plea. 

_Oh, my God. I love you, I love you, I love you, I’m sorry, John._

“I love you, John.” Sherlock murmurs looking up above, hoping the wind or even the rain would carry his words to his John. And with that one final thought, he closes his eyes, letting go of the vine and falls.

Sherlock expects he would reach the water in less than five seconds and it should be dead ice cold.

What he didn’t expect was the feeling of warm body heat engulfing him—the grip of strong arms around his waist, the andante of heartbeat from a chest where his head was now slumped and the trembling voice of someone he never expected to hear again—warm, smooth, low, _only_ for him.

“I told you not to let go, you git.”

Sherlock smiles as he feels the press of warm lips on his forehead as he leans to John's chest.  
“I love you, John.” He murmurs. He felt the arms surrounding him stiffen for a while and then relaxes. Maybe it’s too early. Maybe it's too much. But Sherlock doesn't have any strength to support his words right now. Maybe _if_ he recovers. But somehow, right now, in John’s arms—it just felt _right._ Just as his mind already drifting off to unconsciousness, he felt John hugging him closer, warm lips breathing just above his ear...

_"You're still a git. And I love you too."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sat in front of my laptop to type the rest of John's point of view around nine in the morning. And then Sherlock's until my back was numbed in pain. Unfortunately, I finished it just around three thirty in the afternoon and the pain on my back escalated. I could actually feel my curved lower spine poking at my lungs that I had to stop. So i was only able to write three k plus I think. I could never write more than that in one sitting, I'm so sorry. :(
> 
> —I do hope you'd like the update.


	13. Chapter 13

“I could come,” 

After stuffing a jacket, plain white shirts, protein bars, bottles of water and some other med stuff, John looked up at his sister while they pack for the things he will need in search for Sherlock and Collin. Although the forest guides were called and two of them had proceed to look for the brothers John insisted that he wanted to search for them too. The parents and their children along with half of the staff had already returned to the Inn to have a rest but his sister remained with him, guilty conscience wouldn’t let anyone sleep. Although John reassured Harry earlier that she doesn’t have to feel guilty, it seems they are about to go at it again.

“Could be dangerous,” John replied.

His sister stopped from folding the towels. She took his hands on hers, placing it over his duffel bag.

“Johnny, I’m so very sorry.” She said quietly, looking in his eyes. For a moment John thought he was seeing their father through his sister’s eyes, for the reason that they share the same eye color and he almost flinched if he hadn’t stopped himself. John squeezed Harriet’s hand softly as he thumbed away the tears brimming in his sister’s eyes.  
John shook his head, “We’ve been through this earlier. Not your fault. Alright? This is all—”

“ _No._ ” Harry stops him, fidgeting on the loose threads of the bag. “I should’ve looked after Collin. I shouldn’t have left her there with _that woman._ ”  
John sighed heavily, letting go of Harriet’s hand and telling her that _the woman_ have a name. He earned a snort of disgust after that. “And Collin’s not your responsibility. He’s mine.” He added.

But still his good sister continued on mumbling to herself while resuming what she was doing, “.. _that woman_ , what a pain in the arse. And now even Sher—“  
“ _Him_ too.” He interrupts.

“Him _what?_ ” asked Harriet.

“Not _your_ responsibility.” John replies casually.

Silence followed and God knows why, when he looked up at his sister, she was now sporting a genuine smile that was slowly turning into a huge grin.  
His eyes narrows, “What?”

“Oh, nothing.” Harriet replies rather giddy.

“What the hell—what is it, really?”

Harriet gave him the _look_ , that he could only interpret as _Dear-God-help-me-my-brother-is-such-an-idiot look_ And he won’t allow that. He was about to continue their banter when a continuous knock came from the opened door of the cabin. They turned and saw Mike, huffing and clearly out of breath.  
“Mike, what—!“ John exclaimed. 

“They couldn’t— “Mike starts in between breaths. “The guides couldn’t find them.”

Harriet looks at him in horror.

“Oh my God, he’s just five John.” Harriet whispers. “And what if Sherlock—“

“ _Stop._ It’s going to be alright.” John says, firm voice surprisingly coming out of him, reassuring his sister.

“I need to finish this and then I’ll go find them. And I _will._ ”

Harriet gave him a firm nod. She took the forest’s map out of the desk drawer and handed it to him. Next thing he knew he was dragged in a tight hug, map squashed in between them. And then his sister was now walking towards Mike. The two went outside, shutting the door quietly, leaving him on his own to plan.

••••••••

John finds himself walking the same path as Sherlock did, three hours ago. His watch says it’s almost four in the afternoon. The rain has started falling and even getting stronger. He weaved through the bushes, scanned half of the forest while perched on a higher branch of a tree and still found nothing.

The guides couldn’t find Sherlock and Collin, Mike had said earlier. How so? They’re guides for fuck’s sake. Fatigue didn’t stopped him from looking. But the bag along the med kit on his hand and the rope slung on his shoulder added to the weight he has to carry. 

In result of the army training he had before John looked for an empty hole that was big enough to accommodate a person. Trees of various sizes could be found on the preserved area. Luckily, odds are with him, he found a tree hole, huge enough for him and if he ever found Sherlock and Collin. Settling down he went inside placing his things carefully in a corner. He went out again looking for fallen branches that could serve as a bonfire later. He knew the evening would be cold as ice. And the thunder getting closer isn’t a good idea either. When he think he had gathered enough woods, John rummage through his duffel. He pulled out a towel and laid it carefully on the dry ground. He sat on it and rested, leaning his head to the hard walls of the tree. Eventually, the sound of nature around him lulls him to sleep.

••••••••

John was awakened by the sound of someone screaming in between the roll of thunder. Startled, he almost stumbled on his feet. He stood up anxiously and went outside. The rain was now pouring hard, pounding on his back. He took the thick branch just beside the tree he was staying. Then he started to look for the source of the shouting, taking measured steps forward, while darting his eyes from both sides and behind him. _Well, this reminds me of the old days._ John thought.

He was almost at the edge of the clearing when John heard the rustle of leaves on the far-end of the cliff. The river has now come into full view. Small waves crashing wildly to the huge rocks below. He shook his head dismissing the bad thoughts of Sherlock and Collin ending down there. He couldn’t live with that. Just then a movement on the corner of his eye catches his attention. A familiar figure, arms outstretched was hanging on the vines, gripping them hard.

Then John hears it, the scream followed by a sob. A child’s.

_“Sherry!”_

It was Collin’s. John ran as fast as he could on the other end and when the kid came into view he sighed in relief. Collin was crouched on the edge of the cliff looking down and shouting.

“Collin!” He called out.  
The kid turned to him, eyes unfocused. His curls are a mess and his storm  
y grey eyes are a well of tears. When Collin recognizes him, the kid stumbled to get up and John took the remaining steps to meet Collin’s hug halfway. 

“Hey …” John says softly. He took Collin in his arms and hugged the kid tightly, waiting for his body heat to envelope the kid. Collin was trembling from the cold but he hugged back. Then John felt Collin’s small face on the warmth of his neck. 

“It’s alright. It’s going to be alright. You’re safe now.” John murmurs on Collin’s curls. But with a jolt, Collin struggled in his arms and John was forced to get him back on the ground. 

“Collin! Calm down!” he tried to hug the kid again but Collin was now dragging him back to the edge. Collin has started sobbing and mumbling words.

“Breathe, Collin. Look at me and breathe. That’s a good lad.” He says trying to calm the kid.

“S-Sherry. Please, save Sherry …” Collin pleads, voice slurring as he points down the cliff.

_Dear God,_

John took Collin on the safer side of the cliff on a small clearing beside the bushes. 

“ _Stay_ here. Alright? I’ll save your brother. I _swear_ ,Collin. I’ll save him.” John says in a firm voice. The kid nods slowly as he slumps on the ground, folding his knees close to him and wrapping his small arms around him. The doctor in John could tell, the kid has developed a fever and it’s not going to be good for him to stay on this place any longer. He needs to get the brothers into safety.

_Sherlock._

He loops the first rope on his waist and looks down to where Sherlock was barely hanging on.

“Sherlock!” He shouts with all his might. Hoping Sherlock would recognize his voice. He hears an audible gasp and a muffled voice. There’s not enough time. He could tell from Sherlock’s response that the man was _almost_ giving up.

 _“John!”_ came the much clearer voice.

“Thank God,” he murmurs to himself.

John took the other end of the rope, tying it expertly on a strong thick root buried deep on the edge of the cliff.

“Sherlock! Don’t let go!” he shouts again below. Not minding if it sounded like he was begging. Because God knows what he would do to himself if anything happens to Sherlock. Silently he prays that Collin didn’t hear what he said. He didn’t want the child to worry. And the failure of rescuing Sherlock would definitely result to a traumatic experience for the child. Not to mention what Mr. and Mrs. Holmes would do to him or much scarier, Nana Emma’s judgement.

John took the other rope that was slung from his shoulder and tied the other end, the same way as the first. He gave the ropes an experimental tug as he prepared to walk his way below when he heard Sherlock wince in pain. He looked down in a panic, his eyes widens as Sherlock’s hand release the vine.

_Fucking hell!_

John swore over and over again as he let his body fall downwards. His back felt cold with the mix of rain water and sweat. He bumped on the slippery ground, the damp leaves, and John was pretty sure that he almost tasted mud on his lips. He continued on falling until he passed Sherlock’s limp body that bumped on a rock making it sway on his side. John catches him in time before the rock falls almost hitting Sherlock’s head. He won’t allow that. _No concussion, please._ He thought.  
Balancing his legs on the narrow rocks where they hung in between, John wrapped Sherlock in his arms. And just gently, he laid the man’s head on his chest. First aid, warmth: Body heat. He needs Sherlock’s body temperature to return to normal reading.

John watched Sherlock’s eyelids flutter, he knew Sherlock would pass out from exhaustion. He feels Sherlock’s pulse and was relieved to find it stable.

“I told you not to let go, you git.” He murmurs softly while feeling sated from his and Sherlock’s combined heat. His legs would soon give up but he needs to make sure that Sherlock had rested before he moves him. John thought of moving now, but Sherlock in his arms felt so good. It’s been a long time since he had someone this close and that didn’t even end well. He looked at Sherlock, having a perfect view of his face. Up close the man was even paler and smooth, like a ghost. His curls are darker without the sunlight. Eyelids flutter and his long eyelashes quiver, pale arms were adorned by bruises and reddening spots from the ordeal. And John was aware that Sherlock’s legs were probably like that too. He reminded himself of scolding Sherlock for wearing shorts instead of jeans or trousers. 

When John’s gaze darted to Sherlock’s lips he felt a warm sensation bloom inside his chest. He once daydreamed of having a go at that perfect curve when they first met. Good Lord. If he wouldn’t stop himself right now from imagining, he sure will have a hard time getting them back to safety. So instead, he pressed his lips to Sherlock’s smooth forehead, and stayed in that position until he noticed Sherlock’s smile, followed by the words that froze him on the spot.

 _“I love you, John.”_

He willed himself to relax. John thought of the trouble they had been through. It was a mixed of both of them holding back and both of them not talking about anything. Afraid of what would be the result. Afraid if a dent on the glass would break it into pieces. But John never felt like this to anyone. He was an army arm, a doctor. He handled injuries and deaths, in his arms, in his table and it haunted him in his nightmare or whenever he was alone. He made grave mistakes and trusted the wrong people. But Sherlock was never among the wrong people. If he would be asked about the right thing that he had done in his life, he would honestly answer that it was accepting Mike’s job offer to him. Because it lead him to Sherlock. A bit fast yes, but John thought, he certainly had lived enough to know the difference between an attraction and falling completely in love.  
Maybe _this_ time. Their _right now_ is the right time. 

John smiles to himself watching Sherlock fall asleep in exhaustion. Gently, he cradled Sherlock’s head closer as he replies, breathing over the mess of curls in front of him, "You're still a git. And I love you too."

••••••••

When John successfully made it to the top of the cliff, he was totally exhausted. Black spots dance in front of him and his body was as good as collapsing as well. But he willed himself to treat the situation as one of those he had done in the army. He put Sherlock carefully beside Collin. When John turned to the kid, he noticed the red spots on Collin’s skin just above the collarbone. He then laid a hand on Collin’s forehead, cursing under his breath afterwards. The kid was burning up. Immediately, he carried Collin gently into his arms to the tree trunk he found earlier, and then he went back for Sherlock doing the same. Sherlock was a bit difficult to carry _damsel in distress_ style, so he slung Sherlock’s arm over his shoulder while he put an arm on the man’s waist. Surprisingly, Sherlock was light. And once again, John was reminded when they first met, Sherlock fainted due to lack of protein.

John took out the clothes and bottled water out of the bag and was surprised to find that the pockets are also well stacked with ginger tea bags. The other pockets had protein bars and a small honey canister. The med kit was well stacked as well and with an addition of a travel thermos that would be enough to provide five small cups of tea. He knew he had Harriet to thank for and he reminded himself that too. His watch alarmed and a glance told him that it was half past five. He took out two pieces of tea bag from the duffel’s pocket and two small disposable cups. He poured hot water dousing the tea bags then he adds a scoop of honey from the small canister. 

With practised movements, John went on disinfecting Collin’s bruises. After wrapping the kid’s arms with a clean gauze, he cradled the kid’s head over his lap murmuring soothing words. The kid wakes up from slumber and almost in a panic. John once again talked to him in a low voice when Sherlock stirred off from sleep. He helped the man get up, as Collin immediately crawled on Sherlock’s lap. They smile at each other and John took the opportunity to give Sherlock the tea. Sherlock murmured thanks and the three of them fell into a comfortable silence.

••••••••

It was already dark when the sky cleared.

John watched Sherlock’s silhouette as it was being illuminated by the moonlight. The clouds roll by accompanied by the night’s wind, gently rustling the trees around them. He stares at the man in awe. Sherlock was really beautiful. And somehow inside him, John felt lucky that he had Sherlock’s attention. But it’s not just because of the man’s appearance that one should be proud off. Sherlock’s brilliant with a love for his family that no one could compare. 

He closed his eyes as he thought of Sherlock’s words earlier before passing out. Sherlock said he loves him. And he wondered if the man heard his reply. He knew this isn’t the time to think about it. Sighing, he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep now.

So he just continued on watching Sherlock sleep with Collin in his lap. But knowing the man would wake up with an aching back, John carefully took Collin, laying the kid on his makeshift bed. Then he bravely crawled behind Sherlock, half of his body spooning the man from behind. He wrapped his arms on the man’s slim waist letting Sherlock lean against him as he closed his eyes to catch some sleep.

John was awakened from his nap by Sherlock trying to get up and failing.

“Sherlock ...” He called out, catching the man on his hips when he stumbled on his feet falling over him. John wrapped his arms again gently and firm around Sherlock’s waist. He felt Sherlock shiver despite the warm feeling their bodies emit. 

“I don’t think you should move,” He whispers, there was something sensual in whispering on the dark. And John was clearly keeping his own sanity on check. His eyes even narrowed as his voice somehow dropped in its lowest pitch. He felt Sherlock tilt his head to the right side exposing the sensitive skin of the man’s neck, tempting and free for John to devour. John swallowed as he give in on Sherlock. He nosed the pale skin offered before him as his lips occasionally nips the flesh. He was rewarded with Sherlock’s back arching and pressing closer to him. And then just like that, he felt Sherlock’s breathing escalate.

 _“John … “_ Sherlock practically purred his name in a too much sensual way that it felt much better than being naked. John felt like a predator right at that moment. And fuck if that voice didn’t went straight to the lower part of his body activating his senses in the middle of the night. If only Sherlock’s body temperature isn’t shooting up, John thought he couldn’t have stopped himself.

“S-Sherlock,” John cursed again, in a matter of minute, Sherlock made his voice rough. 

He cleared his throat and tried again, “Sherlock. You need to lie down. I need to—“

“John … “Sherlock called out again, and what happened next was out of John’s control.

The man had him pinned on the ground in a second. His arms stretched above his head. Sherlock was hovering above him, with eyes focused _only to him_. It was captivating. John felt naked and all he could do was stare back at those eyes. He felt hypnotised. The pair was silvery under the moon. And then he felt Sherlock’s backside lowering on him and John mentally builds a wall between himself and his desires as he tried so _damn hard_ to stay still and not to reverse their position and rubbed the lights out of the man above him. Then Sherlock coughs even harder and John snaps into reality. Sherlock’s hands were burning on his wrists.

“Sherlock …” He calls again, willing himself to speak firmly. But then he hears Sherlock’s next words and his walls crumbles all over again. 

_“I want you.”_

_Oh, fuck._

“S-Sherlock,” He winced at the broken sound of his own voice. He swallows the invisible lump on his throat and tries again.

“Sherlock— let go and lie with me,” John instructs calmly, which seem to be amenable to the man. He felt Sherlock let go, slowly crawling beside him.  
John sighed and cursed mentally. _That was close._

And it was fucking mentally exhausting, seeing Sherlock lose control like that. 

Good Lord, what this man could do to him. But John would never take advantage of Sherlock’s situation even if Sherlock was the one to initiate.  
When he was sure that Sherlock was asleep. John separates himself, mindful not to wake the man. He rolls his jacket making it a pillow under Sherlock’s head. Then he goes over to Collin to check the kid. 

John was relieved to feel Collin’s temperature back to normal again. Just to make sure of it, he pulled out the thermometer from the med kit placing it on Collin’s armpit. Then he felt the kid’s pulse with two fingers as he begin counting them over Collin’s heartbeat. Satisfied with the results. He returned to Sherlock while placing another wet fabric on the man’s forehead. When he’s finished he picked out a fresh white shirt, a towel and went down to the shallower part of the river. It’s time his needs should be taken care of.

••••••••

Sherlock blinked in the dark, feeling John’s hand on his forehead. He heard the sound of a fabric being squeezed out of liquid and a moment later the wet fabric was placed on his forehead. He wanted to get up again. He wanted to ask about his brother, but the moment his back touched the makeshift bed, his whole body felt like it was burning. The wet fabric on his forehead made him feel sleepy even if he doesn’t want to and even if he doesn’t want to Sherlock slipped to unconsciousness.

The next time he wakes, it was to the sound of a muffled conversation. The sound of whispers together with the chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves. Slowly, he gets up looking for its source.

His gaze fell on the figures outside the tree trunk. One was a little boy crouched on his knees listening to the other one, an adult explaining something to the kid. He smiled. John and Collin looked like an image of a father lecturing his son about the nature’s wonders. Sherlock felt parched. He was about to get up when he heard his brother’s voice.

“Sherry!” Collin exclaims, he caught his brother into his arms and they hugged tightly. Collin murmured of how worried he was and they should thank _Teacher John for saving them._

Sherlock looked up and sees John smiling down at them.

“It was nothing really. Responsibility.” He heard John say in a calm voice.

And Sherlock felt a pang of guilt inside his chest. He held John’s gaze a little while longer before he decides on what to say. He should apologise.  
Sherlock breathes out, “John, I deeply apologise—“ 

But before he could continue, a chorus of shouting interrupted them. He heard John excused himself and went outside to see what it was.  
When he came back, Mike was with him and two other guys that he knew as the tour guides. To Sherlock’s disappointment, they were never left alone anymore.

••••••••

Two hours later, Sherlock finds himself and Collin being hugged by Mrs. Hartswich in front of the Inn. They were given packed biscuits and chamomile tea. Sherlock curtly apologised for the inconvenience but the old lady just waved him off and even asked them to come back again in which Collin nodded enthusiastically.

Then he and Collin was now seated at the back of the last school bus en route to Sunny March. Harriet chose to sit beside them while John was on the front seats with Mike and Principal Lestrade deep in discussion. Harriet told them that Carrie and the other parents and students had gone home that morning. Sherlock still feeling in a daze, honestly told Harriet that he doesn’t care about Carrie’s whereabouts that made John’s sister laugh heartily. After that Collin told Harriet their stories of adventures as what his brother would call it. Then he blushed when Collin mentioned to Harriet about not minding giving him his sketch of John’s side profile in exchange of being here with him. Harriet raised an eyebrow at him in inquiry but he just shrugged it off. When his gaze fell forward to John, he noticed John was looking at him too. Then Sherlock felt it, a magnetic pull from John’s gaze as blurred memories flashed before him.

 _The feeling of a warm body around him. That warmth seeping through his bones. Warm lips on the sensitive skin of his neck…_  
Sherlock gasps audibly as realisation dawned upon him.

_He saw himself hovering above a man's body, eyes darkening over him, desire visible in those midnight blue iris. But it was restrained by something he couldn't understand. And then he feels himself, his body lowering over the man’s…_  


Sherlock stood up suddenly on his seat, eyes widening. 

_What did I…_

Harriet was on her feet too asking him what’s wrong as Collin tug on his shirt. His legs almost wobbled as the bus went on a rough road. 

_'I love you, John...' He said, and right in the middle of the wilderness of his mind, he heard those words ..._

__

__

_'And I love you too,'_

He felt his cheeks flushed the shade of crimson, as he watched John Watson trying his best and failing to hide the smirk on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the field trip arc was finished!  
> time to brainstorm for what to happen next!  
> that was fun! despite the grammatical errors, this and that.  
> Woosh. Thank you very much for reading!  
> Hopefully you'd still be there on the next update.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Lord, AO3's html coding is a pain in the arse—I GIVE UP EDITING. Whatever you see in the wrong format. I deeply apologise.

The restaurant as Sherlock had been told, belongs to a famous chain of food business that centers for pasta lovers. The ambiance of the place mimics those of a simple yet elegant dining room/living room. It has that cozy effect that could make one feel at home and forget about their business or their problems or even school works. What's even surprising about the restaurant, it was open for all kinds of people with different status in life, and their prices were affordable. For a food business that was a main vision, to be able to reach out to the masses as much as the business can. The Holmes' Hotels and Resorts International shares the same vision. That's why his parents works hard to maintain their business to that level. And Sherlock vowed to them that he will help in any way that he can.

Sherlock stared at the half-empty plate in front him. The food was delicious, in his opinion. But it _lacked_ of _something_. He had a taste of every single pasta recipe that was known to man, in the comfort of the Holmes’ Mansion’s kitchen courtesy of his grandmummy Stella. When he was seven years old, they used to spend time together every day after his horse riding lessons. She loves to cook for him when she was still alive. Sherlock could still remember her eyes that were focused on him while she explained in detail the kinds of pasta; the ways to cook them, the ways to let the spices blend with them and what spices to use. Sighing he continued staring at the swirl of pasta and the hole he had made in the middle of it, as if the answer would come out from it. Grandmummy used to slap his hands playfully when he does this to his serving.

Suddenly, he misses her. Her warm smile, her curly blonde hair that was put up on a tight bun, the silly sequined bees embroidered on her apron, tied around her waist, most of all, her lively laugh and her views in life. Sherlock remembered the last time he had seen her. The last time they had spent together on the kitchen. She served a plate of her special carbonara and he ate it with much gusto. When he finished, he asked for some more. But grandmummy held his hands instead and stared at him with a solemn look.

_‘Life is like a serving of pasta, Liam,’ gran says, a bit serious. Then she says, ‘You’ll only have one,’ a bit jokingly._

_Sherlock pouts his lips, while he slumps both arms and face on the table, minding of the plate in front of him. ‘But what does that mean, gran?’ He asks curiously, because he doesn’t know if gran was still talking about the serving of pasta that he still wants but gran wouldn’t give him, or that something about ‘life’._

_‘That means, you won’t have another life, so you better live to the fullest, the life you have now,’ she explains to him calmly,_

_His eyes narrows in confusion. His little mind whirling into different thoughts. But still he couldn’t come up with the meaning of it._

_‘But what if I want to have another one? A different ‘life’ instead?” he asks again. He actually meant a different kind of pasta but his grandmummy already closes her eyes and begins with her preach. Although he only listened to the half of it, his mind seemed to remember the significance of that memory._

_‘Still, you can’t. You must learn to **balance** and **enjoy** what **you have** and **appreciate** it. If you wanted **more** of what you already have, it’d be bad for you. But if you wanted **less** of it, you’d miss that **something**. But if you want a ‘different’ life, wouldn’t the factors still be the same?’  
Sherlock yawns, when grandmummy opens her eyes, she looks at him fondly. Reaching out a hand, gran smoothens the expression on his face with the warmth of her palms, ‘Balance, little one, and contentment.’_

_‘Live your life in balance, and you won’t regret having only **one.** Be contented, be yourself and you wouldn’t wish to be different or to have a different life at all.’_

_And Sherlock wished he understood the comparison before. He wished that he could go back in time. Grandmummy passed away in her sleep that evening, and Sherlock cried and cried on the day of her funeral._

Tears began to fall from his eyes uncontrollably. He shook his head lightly as he tried to blink the tears away. He reached for a napkin on the table in a daze that he almost didn’t noticed the plaid red handkerchief that was being offered to him.

“Thought you might need this more than I do,” came the gentle and soothing voice that took him back to reality.

When Sherlock looks up he was greeted by a tall figure of a man, a bit taller than him by four inches, he thinks. The man was dressed in a white chef’s uniform, with a genuine smile (although it didn’t reach his eyes, there is something there…), a riot of tousled brown hair, which was springing all over, the view almost made Sherlock laugh. The man had a set of blue eyes like John.

Slowly, he took the handkerchief off the chef’s hand, murmuring thanks, dabbing it on his eyes. It was only then that Sherlock noticed the silence that filled the restaurant.

Curiously, he looked around to see what the silence was all about and to his surprise, half of the female customers seated on their chairs were looking at him with daggering looks as if they’re … _envious?_

Why? He had no idea. Then the low whispers of those said females reached his ears.

 _’Oh. My. God. How lucky!’_  
‘Who does he think he is?!’  
‘Chef Van is so handsome!’  
‘Seriously?! Who was he?! Are they related?!’  
‘Well, he looks charming enough.’  
‘Chef Van went outside of his kitchen for HIM?!’  
‘Indeed, he haven’t done that for what … like eons?’  
‘That customer might be special,’  
‘Is he the Chef’s boyfriend?!’

Hearing the last remark, Sherlock choked from an invisible food on his throat. Immediately, a glass of water was offered to him. He took it, drinking to soothe his breathing. Then a warm hand slowly reached on the center of his spine moving up and down, rubbing lightly. Sherlock perspired in spite of the air-conditioning.

Making sure that he wouldn’t choke again, the chef moved back to his previous place, at the side of Sherlock’s table. Sherlock swallows down the rest of the liquid.

“Alright?” the chef asks again.

“Yes … Thank you for the … water.” He replied curtly, worrying his lower lip. Sherlock thought of what else to say. In the end, he thought of complimenting the food that was served. “The pasta … was delicious. It was passable actually, even though—

To Sherlock’s surprise, the chef actually gasps with such noise that made the people around them startled. The chef laughed at himself, bowing and apologising at everyone around them and Sherlock thought it was silly but the man looked like a child and with all that apologising, he thought it was actually adorable.

__Now, where did that come from?_ _

Before Sherlock’s mind could come up with an answer the chef was beaming a smile at him again, “Thank goodness!” the chef exclaimed floured hands ruffling his own hair.  
Sherlock’s eyes narrowed in confusion, “What?”

The chef looks at him amused before answering him, “Earlier, I thought you were crying because the dish tasted that bad. It's the reason why I went out. My assistant said he noticed you crying. So it's either, it's so good or it's so bad—"

“Ridiculous.” Sherlock interrupts. “Your recipe is a marvel. I was just … reminded by my grandmummy. Grandmother.”

“Oh,” was all the chef could say, and Sherlock flushed on his seat as the man really looked at him. he looked at him with those blue eyes reflecting mirth and respect.

“Alright," says the chef, “In that case, do you want another serving?”

Sherlock shook his head, “No,” then he told the chef of what his grandmummy's advice to him about life and its comparison to a serving of pasta. It was all fine, the chef listened curiously until the man giggled.

With a smug look, Sherlock looked at the man standing beside him. Sensing that he was somehow offended, the chef raised his hands.

“Don’t get me wrong, please. I wasn’t laughing at her. More like, I’m laughing at the younger you.” The chef said, defensively, before adding, “But I think, your grandmother meant, about life’s chances and choices.”

The chef, then, sat on the chair across him, elbows relaxed on the table, palms folded under his chin.

“I think that the phrase, ‘Life is like a serving of pasta, you’ll only have one,’ meant that, indeed, you only have one life, but the chances on how you will live it is actually uncountable. Your grandmother meant, it’s your choice. You’ll only have one life, but a lot of choices to choose from on how to deal with it. If you take the chances, then you’ll have the choices.”

Sherlock’s mouth dropped open slightly, he could tell by the way that the chef was looking at him, that he was even more confused.

“It’s like this,” the chef sighed, gesturing a hand in front of them and explained again, “You have this, in front of you, a plate of carbonara,”

Sherlock nods when the chef raised an eyebrow at him, “Life and the choices you make are like this carbonara. I can offer you another serving of this, but it’s still the same carbonara—”

“Of course,” Sherlock replied immediately. I’m not an idiot. The chef chuckled as if he could read his mind’s reaction. And hearing that sound tugged at something inside his chest.

“So there you go,” the chef leans on his back on the chair, arms crossed on his chest, looking at him with such interest.

“It meant that …” he started, “I have only one life, and I have to take my chances. Be aware of my choices … enjoy life but don’t indulge too much as well?” Sherlock looks at the man before him, and the man nods slowly and smiles. But that smile once again, didn’t reached his eyes.

The chef then stood offering a hand at him, “Ivan Trevor Lefebvre, a chef today,”

Sherlock took Yvan’s hand and he almost yelp in surprise when Yvan tugged him closer, bringing the back of his hand to the chef’s lips. He felt a warm sensation shoot through his arm, escaping to his lips with a soft gasp.

Then the chef looks up at him with an intensity that almost made Sherlock’s knees buckle up. Luckily, his back was leaning on the headrest of the chair.  
His throat felt dry that he had to clear it a bit before replying curtly. “Sherlock Holmes.”

The chef smiles, but Sherlock being Sherlock saw something behind that smile. A glimpse of sadness very well hidden. “It was fun talking to you, seriously. I haven’t been out in a while.”

“So I’ve heard.” Sherlock replies, emphasizing the last word, based on the whispers earlier.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes,” the chef says then nods at his plate. “Thank you for having our best-seller. I hope to see you soon.”  
Sherlock raises an eyebrow. The chef winks at him, gives him a smile and bows.

Sherlock watches as the chef turns to walk back inside the restaurant’s kitchen. Hushed whispers trailed behind the chef as the man vanished once again through the oak doors. Leaving Sherlock to wonder about the missing ingredient from the carbonara he ate and the cause of the sadness that he had seen on the chef’s eyes.

••••••••

“ _Curlylocks!_ ”

The voice came from the glass doors and reached his ears like a bell.

“Goodness, Harriet, could you lower voice?” Sherlock whispers, while Harriet just shrugs him off.

“Got a news for you!” the woman exclaims as she sat down opposite him.

“Oh? About what?” Sherlock asks curiously.

“John and I had a bet.” He heard her say with pride in her voice.

“Oh?” was all he could say.

“I just got back from Sunny March, annnnd … Shit, I almost forgot—” Harriet flips open her handbag and pulls an envelope out of it, handing it over to him.

“What’s this?” Sherlock asks curiously as he examine the paper. It doesn’t have an address just a messy scribble of his name, ‘To Sherlock Holmes.’

“A letter—“

He looks up “From?”

“From Collin—”

Sherlock panics the moment he heard Collin’s name. Two weeks ago had passed since the field trip and he still couldn’t help but worry that his little brother would be anxious on traveling and going to school. He’s just grateful that his brother seem to cope really well after their mishaps. Still, he couldn’t help but worry and Harriet seem to notice his body going rigid and all.

“Oi, don’t worry. He’s fine. He just asked me this morning when I came to visit John. Asked me to give that to you. He even threatened me on sabotaging my profile sketch that I was asking him a favor to do if I read that. Seriously, is your brother really a five-year old?”

Sherlock relaxes and chuckles at what Harriet said. Then he remembers that something she and John talks about.

“So … about John and … what was it you’re saying earlier?” He asks, eyes narrowing.

“Oh,” Harriet grins, “That’s between me and my brother.”

Sherlock returns her grin, “Is that so? A secret huh.”

A server passes by carrying a tray with glasses of water and Sherlock motions to have one while he orders an earl grey tea for Harriet.  
Harriet mumbles thanks as the order was followed up.

Sherlock opens the envelope and smiles as he reads his brother’s messed up scrawls.

_Sherry,_

_Teacher Jawwwn is being difficult._  
He keeps on mumbling yourname from hischair when he makes us dodrawings.  
I can’t concentrate because he’s beside me. He’s like a bee that buzzes.  
Then when he looks at me heswears under his breath. I guess he sees you because we look alike— unfortunately. How horrendous, isn’t it? But swearing is bad forchildren to hear. That’s bad for children.  
Margaret swears, she says the word ‘you sheet’ so many times in front of me, I thought she’s asking about a sheet of paper and so I giveher. But then she says ‘sheet’ again. I give up. Teacher Lei just shakes her head and talks to Meg in whispers. Later on I learned from Timmy that it was a bad word. Timmy says his father says it a lot too.  
But anyway—Sherry, I’m tired of writing. REALLY. You two. I guess it’s time you’re the one to ask John for a… that thing dull people do.

_Love, Collin_

Sherlock was aware that the deep rumble he was hearing was from his chest. He couldn’t stop laughing.

“What the hell—?”Harriet laughs as well, “Sherlock, what is it? What did Collin say?”

To calm himself he drinks his glass of water. Sherlock folded Collin’s envelope then hides it inside his coat pocket.

“I believe that’s between me and my brother.” He smirks while winking at Harriet.

Harriet shakes her head and laughs, “Oh you two. You’re really the same. “

Sherlock smiles and looks at the window of the restaurant and out on the London streetlights.

So, John couldn’t stop thinking about him then? He thought he was the only one being haunted in a good way by the words they have said to each other. Somehow Sherlock felt like he's being back to being a teenager again.

And if John is as restless as Sherlock, then he knows what to do exactly with that. John did his part, it’s now his time to make the move. He have to try and prove that those words he said to John wasn't just a product of his delirious state of being ill. So he should do something before his business trips and work comes in between them.

Little did Sherlock know, it's not just those that will test their bond.

“So!”

Sherlock turns to Harriet and catching her smirking.

“So, what?”

“ _So …_ Besides _shagging_ each other. What else do you plan on doing for my brother’s birthday celebration in an hour? Do you want a list of dating zones or tips on getting laid?” Harriet casually says to him while leaning closer on their table and in between sipping her tea.

Sherlock’s mind went to a full stop. He blinked. Did she just say … _John’s birthday celebration tonight?_

John’s birthday. Tonight. Celebration.

Harriet kept talking something about cleaning John’s flat and the need to buy a cake when her hand shoots up in front of him, waving. She had a worried look on her face that almost looks like John’s. “Sherlock? Are you alright? You’ve gone Elsa—”

“Who’s Elsa?” He says immediately, eyes drawn in confusion.

“Oh great. I thought you went into shock. John would kill me.” Harriet muttered under her breath and waved a hand at him in dismissal. She leaned back on her chair giving him a ‘But seriously???’ look.

Then Sherlock remembered, _John’s birthday._

“Johnsbirthdaywhenwazzit?” The words came out of his mouth all of a sudden. And even he couldn’t understand it. Harriet looked at him amused. He cleared his throat and tried again.  
“J-John’s… birthday. I-It is t-tonight then?” He winced at his own hesitation.

Now, it’s John’s sister’s eyes that widened. “Seriously? You didn’t _know_ it’s tonight?? You didn’t know his birth date?!” Harriet exclaimed.

“I—It’s… uhm—No…” He replies weakly. Harriet sighed heavily from her seat.

“Oh, fuck—and you two are dating—“

“No!” Sherlock interrupted, Harriet raised an eyebrow at him.

“ _No?_ Pardon me, Mr. Holmes—But my brother was over the moon a few months ago when he mentioned to me that—”

“ _Yes._ ” He interrupted again, “I mean, we _did_. Just one time. Because … I… I’ve caused a trouble...” He says in a weak voice. Harriet looked at him solemnly.

Harriet sighed. “I know. John told me on e-mail. I’m disappointed that you go on dates without telling them of your medical conditions. It’s a relief that John’s a doctor.”  
“Yes… I was… thankful for that too. But you see, I’m not—I’m not really used to dating, unless it was all business. I’ve been to… a lot of those since I was twenty-one. But John…” He trailed off, thinking about his and John’s first date that had gone wrong. His supposed to be first date that screams sentimentality that he screwed up. He looked at Harriet and the woman was nodding slowly urging him to go on.

“He’s the first I… that I… really _cared_ about.” With his remark to John, Harriet smiled at him with warmth in her eyes.

It was even an understatement. John had been more than kind to him. In their limited acquaintance, he’d been more caring and even if they didn’t talk that much after their date fiasco, John was still checking on him. Nana mentioned always, that John always asks about them, about him. He knew John cared for Collin like a parent would do. And John taking care of him when he passed out the day of the program. When John saved him and Collin from their field trip misadventure. John had taken care of him, of Collin, nursed them to be well. He knew part of it was out of guilt from losing Collin in the forest. But he couldn’t throw the blame on the man either. A few days after they got home in the Manor, Nana called him. She said that John was asking about Collin and him. He said that John was so worried for an infection to occur on Collin’s bruises and his wounds. But Nana assured the teacher and doctor that they are fine. Both of them had a high fever that night though. Almost suffered from convulsion, good thing the family doctor was available and with Nana Emma’s help, they needn’t need to be taken to the hospital.  
_“Oh, Sherlock. The man had been to war, witnessed countless deaths and wounds. But the sound of his voice full of worry and fear.” Nana paused, sniffing from the other end of the line, “He’s such God-sent. I’m so thankful that he found _you_ two.” And Sherlock’s heart swelled with affection. “I know, Nana. I’m thankful too.” He replied with admiration._

Harriet tapped the empty space by the side of his plate to get his attention.

“Shall we, then?” He heard Harriet say. The woman stood up while putting her coat on and downing her tea all the way down to the last drop.

His brows furrowed. “Where to?”

Harriet looked at him like he just said something like, ‘Why is the solar system important?’

“ _Obviously._ To John’s flat! We’ll celebrate his birthday!” says Harriet casually. “Get up, Holmes.”

“N-Now?” Sherlock stammered. _Why didn’t I’ve asked in the first place?? Isn’t that basic? Dear God, Holmes._

“Didn’t I mentioned earlier?”

“Uhm.. N-Nope.”

“Oh dear. Then there you have it. C’mon up!” Harriet leaned over to him, reaching out for his arm and dragged him out of his seat.

“W-Wait!” He struggled from standing and squirming from Harriet’s strong grip, but the woman wouldn’t budge. But he kept on tugging his arm back until Harriet faced him.

“What now?!” She exclaimed impatiently, looking at him with beady eyes.

“I… I don’t have a g-gift.” He says in a small voice.

“Well, think of something on the way!” Harriet says to him.

And just like that, Sherlock Holmes got dragged out of the restaurant, which was something he’s getting used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be the last update for September. Might add some other scenes too on the same chapter. I just want to leave this here now for any of you to read. I'm having a hard time really. I'm trying to keep up. My mind and emotions are a mess but I'm trying.  
> I will continue writing in the background and brainstorming in silence.  
> Thank you for the continuous support, hits, kudos, comments and bookmarks, and most of all--reading!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ PLEASE: IT'S IMPORTANT. I SWEAR. DAMN IT. xD
> 
> Hey you! beautiful people! Thank you for the patience and the wait!  
> We'll have a ... a few fluffy moments before the challenges in Sherlock and John's relationship ensue. *checks on my notes* At least, that's what my _bullet notes_ says, but then if we're talking before or if you've read my migraine-causing tweets then you'll know sometimes my mind and my heart goes _south_. 
> 
> So, umm ... This chapter is sooooo special for me. I swear- IT'S 'THE JOHN WATSON SINGING AND PLAYING GUITAR YAY CHAPTER'. I've been nagging myself to write this on any of my work, and once I've brainstormed on writing an MCD where John sings as Sherlock took his last breath. Well??? Turns out it's much better for fluffy moments. I'd die crying if I'd write that (but I might you know, just not now).
> 
> Anyway, the song in this chapter is entitled, 'Is It Okay If I Call You Mine?'. A Paul McCrane song. I swear it was so beautiful. I hope you could listen to it or sing to it while on that part.
> 
> To save you from waiting, I'll end it here. Again, thank you so much! Love ya!  
> Talk to me on Twitter, @allsovacant I run a dramatic tweet series most of the time. *insert laughing emoticon*

John’s flat was surprisingly empty when Sherlock arrived. After Harriet dragged him out of the Italian resto she told him that she’ll distract John first on planning before the man leaves from work and before she joins him on the place in preparation for the party. She dropped him in front of the door and sped right away almost forgetting to toss the flat’s spare keys on the pavement.

He actually thought of finding John’s colleagues from work or former classmates from university or even discharged personnel from the army to be decorating the flat or preparing some food beforehand. But when he got inside, the lights were out and only the dimly lit street from the back alley illuminated the kitchen floor. On the sitting room, the moonlight passed through the tall curtained windows almost making a scenic view of the flat.

He laid the takeaway on the table that Harriet ordered, along with the two servings of carbonara the waiter gave them courtesy of the chef, he just met. Sherlock shook his head smiling lightly as he was reminded of their conversation. Poor guy though, that waiter, they were almost out of the restaurant premises when Harriet spotted the guy in uniform with a tie, chasing them. Harriet pressed the break and the waiter breathlessly gave them the food. Sherlock offered a glorious tip but the waiter said their boss doesn’t encouraged it. In the end Sherlock won the argument that the waiter should take half of it, and then he waved the man off and their car drove away.

With nothing to do and feeling a bit exhausted Sherlock decided to sleep on the couch. It was comfortable enough for him even if the middle was a bit sagged but because his body relaxed from the scent of John around him and from the throw pillows, he fell asleep immediately hugging one pillow close to his face.

____________________ 

Being honest to himself, John never thought of going back to his childhood memories of being able to celebrate his birthday or any occasion ever since he had graduated from med school and had been enlisted to the army. Celebrations only happened before when his father went home from work with his earned salary in the form of bottles of whisky, vodka and wine or when an enemy camp had been annihilated by his troop. But now, celebrating his birthday, here, on a club, with these people he met from Sunny March, definitely a new phase from his life again. Sunny March is indeed, a surprise turn. He always thought he’d never stray away from his choice of career in life. But it seems fate has a different choice for him as well. And giving it a thought, he have to thank Mike for dragging him to the school. He was able to meet someone he never thought he would find. _Sherlock_. And speaking of Sherlock he never expected him to be there, because he never told the man about his birthday. _God, seriously_. They only went out once but John was really confident now that they would hit it off, what with all of the past events that happened between them. He actually asked Harriet via text if could help him have a proper conversation with Sherlock, and his sister gladly offered the help. _When—_ that, he doesn’t have any idea. Turning Harriet into a matchmaker made John smile.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when his ears caught the sound of his name.

“Johnny!”

John turned his head towards the source of the voice. Even with the music out loud, Harriet’s voice boomed from the dancefloor as his sister fought her way to the table. Finally, Harriet made it and waved at him. She sat beside Lauren, greeting the others as well.

“I thought _he’s_ with you?” He asked his sister impatiently the moment Harriet was seated.

“Wait— _who_ should be with her?” Lauren jumped in while passing a shot glass of vodka to his sister in which the woman drank quickly.

“Who else would it be?” Mike joined in, grinning.

“Oh, god. You two. Give the doctor a break.” Jess chimed in, after downing his shot glass, and filling Harriet’s again.

“Yeah. Give my brother a break,” Harriet said in agreement before turning to him, adding quickly. “ _Your beloved_ is _in your flat_. I left him there.”

A chorus of whistles and ‘Ooohs’, and John almost choked on his drink if not for Cale patting his back lightly. He gave Harriet a warning look as his sister drank a shot of vodka.

“You _did_ what?!” He exclaimed, “ _Harriet—_ “

“SERIOUSLY, John. You’re toooo slow. I’m going to disown you. It took me only two weeks to woo Clara and have her in bed. Oh wait—only a week, but she said she wanted me to meet her family first.” Harriet grinned.

“Yeah!” Lauren exclaimed, and John shook his head as his colleague and his sister shared a high-five and then the group clinked their glasses together.

“Jesus …” John rubbed a hand over his face. “I guess he’d umm … expect me there then?” John asked awkwardly. Being in the presence of the scrutinizing looks of his colleagues and his sister isn’t a comfortable place to be.

Lauren shrugged and casually speaks. “Uh-huh. And be sure to have everything _ready_ and _close_ to the both of you.”

John could feel the heat crawling up to his face as a round of coughs and giggles erupted from the group.

“People wait—“Harriet interjected drinking her fill of glass, beer this time. “My brother here, wouldn’t need those tonight. Because you know, he have to be a gentleman and be _gentle._ Ask for Sherlock’s hand first. Oh shit, I meant _heart_.”

His sister supplied with a wink. John shook his head. “Bloody hell. This sounds like I’m asking him for marriage already—“

Mike applauded, “Well? You can practice now, John! Wouldn’t that be great?”

“Yeah,” Lauren agreed. “Just take it easy though, Sherlock’s heart is as fragile as a glass. God, you should’ve seen him looked at me before when I’m with John. He’s a predator ready for a kill—because he’s _jealous_.”

Harriet laughed, “Oh God, you guys _should’ve_ seen Sherlock when we were on that field trip. He _almost_ declared Johnny’s _his man_ after Carrie smudged her lipstick over my brother’s lips.”

John felt really embarrassed despite smiling at the memory. The way Sherlock’s thumb grazed his lower lip. God _that_ was such a _turn on,_ like the man was branding him _‘Mine’_. And then he was reminded of how he _almost_ lost Sherlock on the cliff. But before that, when Sherlock was hospitalised. A sudden pang of pain stirred inside him.

Harriet watched her silently as she gave him a pat on the back, something of reassurance, and he nodded at her. _Not the time, Watson._ The conversation went on full circle again that all he could do was cover his face with his hands. He listened to the drunken group exchange tales of how Sherlock stared at him like there’s no tomorrow. And how he almost drooled while watching Sherlock’s backside as the man walked. When Harriet started babbling about his past middle school adventures, John thought it was enough.

“Alright. Hey— _Harriet_. Stop that right now—” He said while taking the shot glass from his sister’s grasp. “ _Clara_ remember?” He glared at his sister as Harriet’s eyes went wide.

“Oh, shit. _Shit._ I forgot.” Harriet then slumped on her chair. “I need to get sober. Ugh.”

“Yeah, you need that, definitely. And everyone, I think you’ve had enough as well.” John scolded while looking around. Groans and clicking of tongues replied to him.

Jess chuckled, while pushing away his own drink. “Listen to the oldest.”

“Oi—“John countered, as he elbowed Jess on the side playfully.

“John. Seriously.” Lauren tapped his arm, seriously looking at him. John turned to her to listen.

“What are your plans?” She asked.

John rubbed the back of his neck. “Well … having a conversation with him alone is the only thing I’ve planned. But hey— _SERIOUSLY_ , as well, _why_ are you all concerned about me getting laid on my birthday? And this conversation about me and Sherlock’s relationship?” Eyebrows raised, he looked around and found everyone grinning.

Harriet giggled, leaning his arms on the table. “Johnny, you’ve been through a lot and really, I’ve asked these good-hearted people to help. I know you’re my big brother. And I’ve been thankful in every step of the way, when I needed you, you were there.”

John blinked, his eyes suddenly blurs. _Of all the days, Harriet._ “Shut up.” John replied but in a light approach. “You’ve been doing a great job _being_ the _oldest_ lately. I’m always thankful as well. I _owe_ you what I am now.”

“Well that’s shit, no you don’t. You’re the one who’s trying, and now look at you. You’re now a teacher, and you’re going to have a serious relationship with someone. Like, _finally_. Sibling intuition, it’s totally _him._ ” Harriet exaggeratedly sighed.

“Don’t jinx it, Harry.” Mike said, grinning.

“Am not.” Harriet countered.

“ _Right._ ” John breathed out heavily as he stood up and declared, “I’m going.”

And just like that his anxiety vanished when everyone cheered for him. When he looked at his sister, Harriet’s eyes was actually glistening in tears. “Thank you, Harriet.” He said amidst the loud cheers.

“ _Happy birthday_.” Harriet mouthed to him, smiling.

When John left the group after Harriet’s reassurance that she wouldn’t drink anymore, he felt confident and at peace that even if Sherlock would reject him tonight—he will never give up on him and he’ll try again. Birthday or not, Sherlock’s truly a gift in his life..

____________________

His eyes are closed, but his mind is conscious. It was still dark, even if the lamp post and the alley are giving off their artificial light. So when Sherlock felt like he was being watched, he prepared himself. He browsed through his mind for the best self-defence tactic his father have taught him when he was still a child. The air suddenly tensed, he could now feel the presence nearing him. Soft padded footsteps, someone with familiarity on the place. _What if this person is armed?!_ He thought of using taekwondo or jujitsu. But as the seconds tick by, he was still contemplating his move. Just then he felt the warmth of a hand over his shoulder. Sherlock immediately panicked. _Now!_

With one swift movement, he grabbed the wrist of the person, flipping him over the couch and straddling him on the legs. He heard the person winced in pain and gasped for breath as he tightened his grip on the wrist he was holding.

“Jesus Christ—“said the strained voice.

“Not really.” Sherlock countered. “And will never be.” He added in a grave low voice.

The person beneath him gasped again. But this time, it was in _disbelief_.

“S-Sherlock?” the voice inquired.

Sherlock froze. That voice—why didn’t he recognised that voice. Oh well, it wasn’t his name that he said. But he would have though, anywhere! And now it was his turn to be speechless.

He felt as if he was doused in cold water and as if he was almost afraid to ask and hear the answer. But he did.

“J-John?”

And despite their position, he heard the person beneath him hum in recognition and laughed in _relief._

Giving a look on John, the moonlight that passes through the long window, blocked by his shadow, casted a glowing aura on the couch. And now he could see John’s bright smile.

“Y-Yea. It’s me. Oh thank God. I thought it was … If you’d j-just …” John said in an almost hesitant voice. While nudging his legs.

“Oh, _God!_ ”

“Yea, well … Not Him as well.” John chuckled.

He frantically moved off John, almost falling off the couch. Good thing, John, who was now in a more comfortable sitting position, grabbed his waist, pulling him closer and almost crushing their faces together. His hands found the back of John’s neck, snaking his arms rather quickly that made John cursed near the exposed bare skin of his neck. And as Sherlock felt John’s breath there, his pulse shoot up. He could feel his heartbeat thrumming through his chest, pounding, wanting to be let out. But what made him feel in a daze was that he could feel John was experiencing the same thing. In the silence of the moonlit place, their heartbeats synced together.

“Sherlock …”

Slowly, Sherlock extricated himself from John, hearing the man’s voice and allowing themselves to breathe. He looked into John’s eyes, almost in contrast with the darkness around them. Unfocused and shifting gazes from his own to his lips.

“Do you think … Now’s the time that … we should … You know … talk about … _us?_ ” John said, stringing words to him carefully.

Sherlock willed himself to speak. But his throat felt as if it sealed itself. John this close, this close, and he looked _beautiful_. The moonlight somehow shifted its silver rays and Sherlock was speechless at how mesmerising they look over John’s blonde hair, even the grey streaks as well.

“Sherlock, I have to tell you something.” John said to him in a serious voice.

Sherlock nodded, still feeling in a daze with what’s happening.

“I know … _‘Us’_ might sound a bit too fast but—“John started, but he cut through the man’s declaration.

“ _No._ Straight to the point, John.” Sherlock breathe out the words quickly.

John continued staring at him, but now with eyebrows raised. “ _Right._ ” Then he smiled at him, amused. “I … I’ve almost lost you again. Twice. And I … I can’t risk something like that happening again—and still, you’re not aware of what I truly feel.”

It felt like a million thorns are pulled off from his heart. Sherlock watched as John swallowed, cleared his throat and swallowed again. And Sherlock almost smiled at John struggling for words. Because if he’s right on his guess where this confession leads, he doesn’t have anything to worry about. If only John didn’t thought of extricating himself from him too. Sherlock’s mouth dropped slightly open as John stood up and left him sitting on the couch. Sherlock looked down at his lap and that’s when he noticed he was shaking. His hands are trembling. Suddenly, he was aware of the tightening on his chest, the difficulty in breathing and the confusion inside his head. Did _he do_ something wrong again? Or _said_ something wrong? Is John expecting an answer already without asking the _question_? Is this what John meant about his true feelings? But before Sherlock could come up with the unfathomable answers, he heard a sound from where John went. A soft plucking sound of strings. Life of a guitar. And with that realisation Sherlock looked up and found John standing across the dimly lit room, guitar at hand, fingers carefully picking the strings and blending with his voice—John is _singing_ for him. And when their gazes met, Sherlock _almost_ forgot how to breathe.

_Is it okay if I call you mine?_

_Just for a time_

_And I will be just fine_

_If I know that you know that I'm wanting_

_Needing your love_

_Oh … woh …_

_If I ask of you is it all right_

_If I ask you to hold me tight_

_Through a cold dark night_

_Cause there may be a cloudy day in sight_

_And I need to let you know that I might_

_Be needing your love_

_Oh … woh … Oh woh …_

_And what I'm trying to say isn't really new_

_It's just the things that happen to me_

_When I'm reminded of you_

He stared in a daze as John made his way slowly towards him, with careful steps, pouring his heart out while playing and singing for him. John momentarily closes his eyes, also feeling the song and its words but when he opens them again, their gazes always locked. Sherlock felt he wanted to capture _everything_. Because John looked perfect. Sound perfect. And everything was more than _perfect._ Sherlock haven’t heard the song before, so he focused on its melody, on what it’s trying to convey, and how it perfectly fit John’s voice. With John looking at him like he’s someone anyone could hope for of having—it was a fascinating feeling.

_Like when I hear your name_

_Or see a place that you've been_

_Or see a picture of your grin_

_Or pass a house that you've been in_

_One time or another_

_It sets off something in me I can't explain_

_And I can't wait to see you again_

_Oh, babe, I love your love …_

_Oh.. woh ..Oh ..woh.._

Sherlock was so lost in John’s voice, that he didn’t noticed the man was now standing close to the couch. An arm’s length to him, and he just couldn’t wait for the song to _end_ so that he could grab John and make him _feel_ his answer.

_And what I'm trying to say isn't really new_

_It's just the things that happen to me_

_When I'm reminded of you …_

 

When John strummed the last notes of the song, he kept his eyes down to spare him for a while of how overwhelming Sherlock’s gaze felt earlier. He laid the acoustic guitar carefully on the coffee table on his side. His fingers felt numb. Hell, his whole body felt numb. He bit his lower lip as he sat to the couch with a measured space. So that if Sherlock wanted to _punch_ him or to _run away_ because of how dreadful he sounded or how silly it is. _Bloody hell,_ it has been awhile since he had _sung_ a full song, what more, _played_ it. He clutched his fingers feeling them finally as the numbness gradually fade away. It was a last minute resort, the song. He just knew he have to do things this way. Because he remembered a saying, _‘If you cannot say it with words and show it in actions, then sing your way out of it.’_ And so he did.

He allowed a stretch of silence lengthen in between them. When a honk from a passing car suddenly blared from the outside, John gave a nervous laugh. And eventually, he spared a glance to the man across him. Sherlock was looking down with a small smile on his face, and even that made John thought Sherlock was really a beauty to look at.

He cleared his throat, “Uh … Well … That’s umm …”

_Shit, why is this difficult? It’s not difficult before._

John rubbed a hand on the back of his neck trying to release the tension from his body. Sherlock must’ve noticed it, because the tall man stood up and John followed with his gaze. Not a minute passed, he felt Sherlock’s long fingers squeezing on his shoulder blades. He tried not to make a pleasurable sound. He relaxed to Sherlock’s firm touch, leaning on his back and smiling.

“Wow. Is this included in the birthday package?” He joked as he finally found his voice. A low rumbling sound came from behind him, and he knew it was how Sherlock chuckling. How that could even made the man sounded beautiful. Just then he felt Sherlock’s weight balanced on the headrest of the couch and the back of his neck. The man’s chin was now resting comfortably on his shoulder. The gesture made him feel vulnerable, naked, in a daze all at once. Then Sherlock’s deep voice made its way from his ears to his whole body.

“It was beautiful John, thank you so much.” Sherlock whispered to his ears and John closed his eyes just feeling the vibrations of Sherlock’s voice. He wanted to say _‘No. You are the one who’s beautiful. Amazing. Brilliant. Perfect. You’re everything, Sherlock. And God I hope, you’re mine.’_ He was planning on saying those words but before he could even speak, he felt Sherlock’s fingers nudging his face towards the man. John swallowed as he tilted his head following Sherlock’s move. Now, facing Sherlock, John once again, lost his voice. Sherlock’s eyes are captivating as the moonlight illuminate their figures in the couch. A pale blend of silver grey and green. John knew how Sherlock’s eyes looked in the day. It seemed cold and distant, a mix of stormy grey and sea green. But he haven’t seen them this close at night. And now in having so, John felt lost in it. _His very own universe, only for him to see._

John’s breath hitched when Sherlock slowly leaned in, pressing their foreheads together.

“John Watson,” Sherlock’s voice purred, dangerously low, sending shots of pleasure from his heaving chest down his manhood. And Sherlock seemed to notice that as well, as the man’s eyes darkened with desire, unfocused. Finally, Sherlock tilted his head in a _kissing_ position. Lithe fingers cradled the back of his head, derailing John’s thoughts, sending shivers down his spine. Then he felt the man’s soft luscious lips pressing against his with a breathless whisper over and over again. _“Yours.”_

____________________

Sherlock woke up with an armful of John Watson against him. Glancing over John’s alarm clock on the desk, it’s still early. The bedroom is still drenched in darkness, only illuminated by the desk lamp. Half past five. He smiled when he felt John’s face burrowed closer on the space of his neck. Suddenly, he thought of the cheesiest idea.

 _"_ John, wake up.” He bit his lower lip to prevent himself from giggling as he nudged John’s shoulders. John hummed sleepily against his skin. They're comfortably clothed with thin night shirts and pyjamas but Sherlock felt warm even so.

“W…hat …” John drawled in a muffled voice.

“Wake up, _now._ ” He said impatiently. _Oh God … so this is John Watson in the morning?_

Sherlock grinned. He could get used to this. Eventually, John stirred awake, cracking an eye open, finally, looking at him, eyebrow raised.

“It’s Saturday. I’m working half day and that’s _later._ Lezz slee—“

Sherlock stopped John in mid-sentence by pressing a chaste kiss on the man’s lips. “ _Good morning, love."_ He whispered sheepishly.

When John gave him an amused look and a knowing smile, he pursed his lips. It seemed John knew what he was on about.

" _You_ actually woke me up this early just to beat me to it, Sherlock Holmes?”

"Beat you to what?" He said with feigned innocence on his voice.

"—on waking up early and calling me _'love'_ for the first time."

Sherlock released a hearty laugh. He felt light.

John’s eyes narrowed over him, as if searching something on his face. "Have you even slept?"

Sherlock shrugged, “A bit?”

“A bit?” John echoed.

“It’s just … I wanted that first, John. _Watching you sleep_ I mean. And then waking up with you. I’ve been wanting it, since we’ve met.” Sherlock admitted, he could feel the blush colouring his cheeks.

"We wouldn't run out of that. I swear. There's a first for _everything_."

John grinned knowingly at him. "And we'll try and have every _first_ that will be good for us."

A gnawing feeling clawed inside him. "Even first fights?" He asked cautiously.

He watched as John think in silence. "Yeah—“He heard the man say later, “Even that. But hey—why are you even thinking about us fighting? We're barely in a relationship for forty eight hours."

"I apologise, John. I haven't been... in a serious relationship before. I had always been scared of having fights. And well, you know what I’m like."

"Hey, no—No. You’re not going to do that to yourself. You’re brilliant, Sherlock. You’re amazing. Stop degrading yourself. And I understand. I haven’t had … long-term relationships either. So we'll take this slow. We’ll grow together. Alright?"

Sherlock nodded, _his_ John. He sighed and pursed his lips. "Alright. But I don't want to take this slowly.” Sherlock murmured as he leaned in nipping John’s earlobe which made the man giggled.

Soon Sherlock was tickled and then he did the same to John until the both of them are squirming like teenagers over the bed rumpled sheets. Then John used force to spoon him. Sherlock yelped in surprise.

He shivered as John whispered on his ear this time. "Look at you, you fit in my arms."

Sherlock closed his eyes and hums in response.

"I can't believe one can fit perfection in a pair of arms." John breathed over his curls. And suddenly, Sherlock couldn’t breathe.

"Stop that." He said.

"Why?" John asked.

Sherlock tilted his head a fraction, to look up at John. "You're making me fall for you even more."

He whispered back. His chest is aching with too much emotions.

And when John smiled at him, warm, inviting, and with eyes full of love and affection, it almost crushed him.

_I couldn’t take it, if I am to lose him._

Their gazes locked as John lowered his lips, nudging Sherlock’s chin to his. And right there, John whispered words Sherlock never thought he's worth of being declared of.

"Then _fall_ —I'll catch you."

Sherlock closed his eyes as John’s lips parted his, moving slow, deeper, sensual and it was then that he realised he already fell in love the moment they had met and _indeed_ — John was there to catch him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. I almost forgot! I've added a _a little scene_ at the end of Chapter fourteen. You have to check that out so you who have been following this as a WIP would understand why Chapter fifteen started on John's flat. ^^  
>  Thank you! Comments are appreciated. I need them. <3


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely apologise for the month-long hiatus. I won't promise that it wouldn't happen again so I understand if some of you, my dear readers would get tired of waiting. But to those who have subscribed and bookmarked thank you so much! Specially to my silent readers. And to those who have followed my recent work, beauty and madness— I love you all!
> 
> And without much fuuurther ado! HERE's SOME FLUFFY / ~~ANGSTY~~ (uh—cliffhanger? No. Anyway—)UPDATE FOR YOU.

"John—I might have my phone turned off. I'll be having a meeting with the chief executive of a food business my mother wanted to invest on. It'll help the family business through this difficult time if I'll be able to seal a deal. It was a well known food business after all. Mummy and Daddy thinks, if we'll be able to invite them to add their services in our resorts and hotels it'll help us alot."

Sherlock's fingers fumbled through the buttons of his shirt. He ran a look of himself across the mirror, ruffled his curls and practised a professional smile. He then took his pouch and phone, craning his neck towards the bedroom's opened door.

After eight years of staying at the top of the most recognized chain of resorts and hotels, the Holmes' business seem to enter a drought. And if this continues it'll affect all of their employees. That's why he's working hard on attending meetings his parents have appointed to him. But even he couldn't progress like before. And at times it makes him feel like someone was preventing them on being able to get back on their feet. He'll have to plan so his parents wouldn't be disappointed. He's been doing this for so long. He won't give up now.

"John?" He called out again but there's only silence in the air. Sherlock walked towards the room to check out his man. When he neared the door, the soft sound of snoring welcomed him. He bit his lower lip and smiled. Leaning on the door frame, he looked at the man sleeping soundly on their bed. Messy hair and pouty lips, short legs tangled on his sheets. John was clothed but Sherlock found it sexy. Well, he also loved John naked in their intimate moments. But isn't this intimate as well? It was just him who could see John unguarded like this.

 _I think I wore him out, last night._ He thought mischievously. It's nearly seven in the morning and his boyfriend should be awake by now. Or Mike might worry if John wouldn't show up at Sunny March.

It's been five months since they have been exclusive to each other and two months since John started to sleep with him thrice a week. It was an arrangement they both talked about that could help them lengthen the hours they could be together. Because Sherlock have already forementioned that his job could eat their time together. But John, the most understanding boyfriend of all, agreed.

Still, Sherlock couldn't believe that he could have this. He could have John as his boyfriend.

It was a rocky start, but they're holding on. And that's what should matter until the end.

Quietly, he walked back inside his room and into his bed where the man of his life was still sleeping soundly. Morning rays already made its way passed the window curtains, basking his boyfriend's hair in golden light. John's face looked peaceful and calm while asleep. And the occational twitch of eyebrows and crunch of nose made John adorable in his eyes. Sherlock chuckled. He already knew what will happen next. John is dreaming.

His boyfriend grunted, lying on his stomach like a child, eyes shut tight and murmured slurred words.  
"Don't... not there... Tom, you might get... hurt.. Cheeky little boy...Meg... Stop pinching.. Collin," followed by snores again.

Sherlock remembered the first week of their relationship vividly, when he first asked John about moving in together. John felt unsure about it at first, because of having nightmares but he wouldn't hear about it, for Sherlock has secrets for himself that got out quickly after their first night of bed-in.

_'You love to cuddle.' John stated to him the day after, voice filled with wonder._

_Shelock blinked up at his boyfriend as he was indeed cuddled to John. He shrugged and snuggled even closer._

_'Oh, God,' John's face looked amused. Sherlock thought he made John feel awkward._

_Immediately, he sat up, 'Sorry, I shouldn't... I didn't—"  
He was about to remove himself from John when the man's arm encircled around his waist._

_'No! God, no. Sherlock, it's not what you think it is.'  
John told him frantically. But he just stayed sitting away about an arm's length and stared at John._

_John gestured on the empty side of the bed beside him, 'Come here, love.'_

_Sherlock nodded and tried to refrain his heart from beating so fast at the sweet sound of John's endearment to him. He then crawled his way back to John's bare chest._

_When he was settled in, John kisses him on the forehead and a quick one on his lips making him giggle. But when he looked up at John, the man was staring at him as if the rest of the world didn't matter. His heart skipped a bit and suddenly, he just had the urge to say it._

_"I love you so much," He murmured over John's chest. John squeezed him tighter, closer. He could feel John's lips curve into a smile and then he hears it. John's soft and mellow voice, reaching out to him. A response to him that meant more than words. He loves it when John sings to him. And he might not know all of the song John sings, but it's John and his boyfriend only sings the most romantic songs._

_"And I love you so, the people ask me how... How I've lived 'til now. I tell them I don't know. I guess they understand, how lonely life has been. But life began again, the day you took my hand..."_

_Sherlock buried his face on the crook of John's neck. John continued singing against his mess of curls._

_"And yes I know, how lonely life can be. The shadows follow me, and the night won't set me free. But I don't let the evening get me down, now that you're around me..."_

_Silence followed and all he could feel was John's heartbeat as if it was in sync with him. His heart beating for John and John's heart beating for him. It was later on, that he felt his eyes in tears and the tears are being wiped away softly by John's thumb._

_Then he thought of something silly.  
"But it's morning, John." He grinned._

_"Oh God. No—Sherlock. I'm not going to change the lyrics just to prove you right."_

_He laughed and John followed as well._

_That morning they stayed cuddled to each other's arms and then Sherlock fell asleep again to John's voice whispering, 'I love you,' over and over again._

Sherlock smiled at the memory. Every single time he spent with John meant so much for him. He sighed and checked on his wristwatch, ten minutes past seven. His meeting is in thirty, he really needs to go now. And because he wanted to be a _good_ _boyfriend_ , he does what a _good one_ should do.

He peeled a sticky note from his collections and placed it over John's laptop. There he wrote about the meeting and the rest of his schedule for the day.

Satisfied, he leaned down and kisses John's forehead softly. John moved a little but didn't woke up. After spending another minute watching John asleep, he straightened up, dusting off his suit. He gathered his keys and pouch and walked out of the bedroom quietly.

Sherlock stood by the door and gave one last look towards his bedroom. Perhaps he should think about looking for another job. One that doesn't need much of his attention so that he could spend more time with John. For that to happen, he have to talk to his parents.

He sighed heavily as he opened the door. The sun that has greeted him earlier was now hidden in the clouds. Sherlock turned his coat's collar up and walked towards his car to mark the start of his long day.

•••••

Sherlock had to ask his secretary over the phone to double check the details of his meeting.

'Sir, it's really Ivan Trevor Lefebvre, that you'll be meeting. He is the son of Estella Morgana Lefebvre and the heir of the Pasta Lefebvre company. His mother was the one who asked for the appointment but she had a last minute emergency and so, she'll be sending her son.'

He groaned. 'Mummy didn't tell me!"

His secretary chuckled on the other line, 'Sir—she did. But you were in Paris last month—with John. Celebrating the monthsary—remember now??'

Well, that's true. He and John made it a tradition of celebrating the milestones of their relationship by traveling. And he was... indeed, quite occupied by a John Watson kissing the back of his neck while he's on the phone with his mother. He quite struggled as well, to listen to what his mother was saying and not to make any scandalous _sound_. So yeah, a bit distracted, yes he was. Because John said that when they're together, the word _business_ and anything that has to do with it is a no-no. But it was Sherlock's mummy, so his boyfriend made an exception.

In the end, Sherlock awarded John a heavenly snog and a mind-blowing blowjob. That cleared him off punishment. And Paris became the most memorable place so far.

Once he confirmed whom he was meeting with, he drove his car in the parking lot at the reserved spot. He made his way easily inside the place although it's been awhile since he had visited since that.. chance encounter with a chef. But what surprised him was seeing the man himself, standing by the glass doors and seemed to be waiting for someone.

Their gazes met and there it was again. Sherlock was just grateful that he hadn't felt that same tug on his belly when the man smiled at him the first time they've met.

_Maybe because his eyes were like John's?_

And now he misses John. He couldn't help but to contemplate if it's too early to have a bathroom break and call his boyfriend?

When he neared the door, the Chef dressed in the grey suit beamed at him.

"Hi, we meet again!" The man exclaimed while extending a hand in front of him.

"Good Morning, Mr. Lefebvre." He said.

The man looked at him with amusement, hand still outstretched.

"I'm Chef Van for you, remember? Or.. just Ivan?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. This... feeling of closeness that the man expresses towards him was quite unusual and he didn't know why. And not knowing is something Sherlock hate.

He squared his shoulders as he finally grabbed Ivan's hand and gave it a firm squeeze.

  
" _Ivan_ then, I believe... we should address each other professionally, if you wouldn't mind. We're here to talk about business anyway."

If the man was shaken a bit for his rudeness, Sherlock couldn't care at all. And he prepared himself for the man's biting comments but instead, Ivan smiled sheepishly.

"Yes. Sorry. I didn't mean to... Of course." The man gave him a terse nod and a weak smile while gesturing at the reserved table.

He shrugged off his coat, folded it, and hanged it over the headrest.

"May I ask why your mother couldn't make it?"  
He asked once he was seated on his chair.  
  
Ivan sat on the chair opposite him and was about to explain when a voice sounded from behind him.

"Oh. She's _here_. I apologize for my tardiness. It was so unprofessional of me," says the owner of the intimidating voice.

They both stood up to greet the new arrival. Ivan hugged his mother before turning back to him with a smile.

"Mr. Holmes, I'd like you to meet the Chief Executive of Pasta Lefebvre, my mother—Estella Morgana Lefebvre. Mummy, Sherlock Holmes. The second son and representative of Mr. & Mrs. Holmes."

The middle-aged woman with a greying hair tied in a bun extended her hand to him. Morgana gave him a smile, at least, a genuine one.

Sherlock eyed the woman not too much. Then he stepped forward and took in Morgana's details carefully; expensive dark brown dress, pearl earrings, golden necklace, gloved hand. Everything about the woman is pleasant. He took Morgana's hand and kissed the back of it softly while Ivan move the chair beside his own for her.

"You're quite tall. I like you already. And you're beautiful as well." Morgana comments after they're all seated.

"Thank you, Ms. Lefebvre." He says.

The woman leaned on the table resting her elbows as she entwined her fingers and rest them under her chin. She gave Sherlock a measured look.

"Call me, Morgana please—Mm... I can see how my son has become attracted to you." Sherlock raised an eyebrow at what Morgana had said.  
"—Cheekbones and all. He kept on talking about you the first time you've met. He won't be silenced about it."

"Sorry?"  
He asked partly confused. He turned his gaze at the chef that gave him an apologetic smile. And maybe Ivan might've sensed him asking for help that the former turned to his mother.

"Mummy, we're here to talk about the.. business deal. Aren't we?" says Ivan.

Morgana nodded still staring at him.  
"Oh. Yes, of course. I didn't forget. But actually, I don't have a contract with me."

Well, then. What the hell he was still doing there? No. He have to at least have the upper hand.

Sherlock then gave a tight smile.  
"We could just... get to that later? I'm only here to represent my parents and negotiate about the—"

"I know, Mr. Holmes—" Morgana cuts him off.

" _Sherlock please_ ," He countered.

Morgana's eyes twinkled with an expression still unbeknownst to him. But before he could think about what it was, Morgana started talking again.

"But to be honest, I accepted your mother's appointment because I thought I could just... ask her of an alternative and lasting solution to the drought your family business has been experiencing, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked at Ivan but the man was already focused on scratching his fingers on the feet of the table.

His gaze returns to Morgana.  
"And... May I know what is it?" He asked.

"Mummy."

Morgana turned partially to look at Ivan and Sherlock saw that glimpse of a hard stare the woman gave to her son. He knew what that meant, and he's not going to allow to be caught in between something he felt powerless of. But before he could excuse himself, Morgana clasped her hands giddily and gestured for the waiter.

"Let's eat something first shall we? We can just get to know each other and be friends before being business partners. And we can always talk to my office regarding this... matter. Is that alright? Sherlock?" Morgana said in a rather false sweet voice.

Sherlock wanted to back out but something inside him tells him that it would not be an ideal move. So instead—

"... Yes, of course."  
He nodded slowly.

"Magnificent."  
And Morgana just smiled.

•••••

The establishment guard closed the front oak doors once the last customer left. He then bid goodbye to his boss who was sitting at the far corner of the receiving area and went off through the backdoor.

"I know what you're up to," Ivan said to her after a deafening silence.

Morgana looked at the man sitting by the receiving area.

"No you don't. But you will."  
She said in a serious note. And she saw hesitation pass on the eyes of her son.

"Don't worry, my son. You will see him soon. I assure you that. But of course, for that to happen, you have to follow my lead."

Her son shook his head regretfully.  
"Mummy—" But she didn't let him finished.

"Not a word, or you will not be able to see him—anymore."

Ivan's eyes widens and he bit his lip to prevent himself from crying.  
"But the last time I heard of Sherlock, he... he has someone already."

Morgana raised an eyebrow, "Really, now? Do you really think I wouldn't know about that?" Then she smiled sardonically.

"Give it a week, son. Everything will fall into place. Now, I have to go. I still have some... other plans to see through."

As she left her son in the restaurant, her mobile rang. A message was received from her secretary.

_____________________  
_Message Received [6:48PM] —  
**Miss, Colonel Marquess has just arrived.**_

_Sent [6:49PM] —  
**Show my office and offer refreshments.**_

_Message Received [6:50PM] —_  
**Yes, Miss.**  
_____________________

She browsed on her contacts and searched for her guest's number. She tapped the call button and waited for the line to connect.

"Ah. Good Evening, Colonel. Yes. You have arrived safely that's what matters. Yes—No—Thank you. May I ask a question—? Yes. Oh, nothing personal—"

She pulled a black file folder from her document bag and browsed its contents. When she found what she was looking for, her eyes brightened.

"Just—what do you know about the... Watson–Van Hyden scandal?"

She glanced at her car's window, now damp from the evening rain as she listened to the other side of the line.

"Oh? False accusation but? ... Now that's something—Mmm—shouldn't be allowed—wasn't it?

"Yes—Yes. I do understand. I will do my best to address the matter to the school's administrator.

Thank you, Colonel. Let's talk in the office later for your... bonus in advance. Thank you."

Morgana ended the call and smiled triumphantly.

"Well, that was too easy." She murmured to herself.

Things are starting to go well as she had planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep Calm and *chants* Patience, patience, patience...


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new tag was added and the rating was upped for this chapter. Because of the words used.

John knew something's not right when he found Collin slumped on a chair outside Sunny March's meeting room a.k.a. The Guidance Councelor's room. The kid was playing with his coloring materials with a scowl on his face. He crouches down in one knee and greets the kid.

"Hey, buddy. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be on class? What's wrong?"

Collin leveled a hard look at him, stormy grey eyes troubled, before the boy speaks.

"Teacher John, I heard Francesca's Dad says you are going to be in big trouble. But he didn't say why would you be when I asked." Collin whispers quietly, before adding, "When Nana and I arrived, a lot of parents are already angry. They're having a meeting inside, Nana's there too.."

His eyes narrows at what the boy had said. Mr. Gunther, Francesca's Dad, is a good man and they have shared a few laughs. Honestly, he couldn't remember anything he had done wrong. So he had no idea what could possibly—

John was startled from his thoughts when the door to the office opened and revealed some of the parents lead by Mrs. Desmonde, little Marcus' mother. She is sporting a disgusted expression on her face. And then that expression turns into horror when her gaze drops down to Collin.

"Oh God, Emma!" Mrs. Desmonde screeches near Nana Emma while she points towards Collin, "Lead that boy away from that faggot!"

John stood frozen upon hearing the word. A surrounding gasps, troubled and disgusted looks pins him to where he stands. His vision dims that he almost tripped when he tried to stand up.

It was then that Nana Emma came into view from his side giving him a sympathetic and apologetic look.

"Good Lord, Bridgette!" The old lady mutters under her breath towards Marcus' mother. "Language! Get a grip of yourself! There are kids around!"

Mrs. Desmoned surveys him with contempt and guides his son as they leave. The other parents follows as well while gossiping.

'What else to do? I will not allow my son to grow up around a man who have done something like that—'

'I doubt Mr. Watson's like that.'

'Oh shut up will ya? We don't even know what secrets he still hides? What if he molested other men too?'

As the voices faded away, John felt he was caught up around a raging storm. He found himself having a difficulty in breathing and this couldn't be—He hadn't felt the initial effects of nervous breakdown nor panic attacks since that incident in Afghanistan; since Harry and Mike needed to haul him up from passing out of a pub due to immense alcohol consumption.

A firm squeeze of an arm brought him out of his dreadful reverie. Mike was already at his side.  
"John, we need you get inside. There's a man in there that claims he was your superior before—in the army. And Greg wants to talk," Mike says to him.

He swallows hard and nods. He tries to speak but all he could do was glance at his long time friend and share a knowing look.  
"I know, mate. We'll figure it out." Mike nods at him and smiles with reassurance in understanding.

School hours was almost over and there are only few students remaining playing on the school grounds. John looks at them and suddenly he felt like this will be the last time that he'll be seeing them.

His gaze drops at Collin who was still looking at him with worried eyes. He crouches down while mussing Collin's curls.

"Hey..." John whispers softly. "—hug your brother tight for me okay? I might not be able to... get back home immediately."

Collin made a sad face as if the kid was on the verge of crying. John sighs heavily and pulls the kid in an embrace in which Collin returns warmly.

"I'll come home. Don't worry." He whispers over Collin's curls.

"Nana...?" He calls out as he glances up at the old lady who was now dabbing a handkerchief over her eyes.

Nana nods at him and urges Collin to release him.

"Come along, dear. Sherry will be waiting."

Finally, after one last squeeze, Collin releases him. The kid waves at him as the two walks out of the school gates.

Then John turns to his friend Mike with a renewed confidence. Whatever his former superior wants, John made a promise he'll come home. So he will.

"Come on, Mike. I want to know what this was all about."

•••••

  
Sherlock knew something went wrong when John enters their bedroom come evening. When Nana Emma and Collin arrived earlier, Nana mentioned that something from John's past in the army has came back to hunt him. The Army—there was only a little information he knew about John's past. He never had the courage to ask about it because he didn't want John to be upset.

The room was a bit dark and only illuminated by the moonlight from the tall windows. But he could hear John stripping his work clothes and changing. Then he heard the bathroom door opens, John brushing his teeth, the flush of bowl, and then the door opens and closes again.

He cranes his neck towards the dimly lit opened door of his bedroom.  
"John?"  
He calls hesitantly. John haven't greeted him. Something was really up.

He heard the soft clicking of the door's lock and the answer to his call in the form of a warm caress on his waist. John slid under the covers and was now nipping kisses behind his naked back. Sherlock arched in the brewing sensation of pleasure. Then John focused on spooning him while kissing his nape.

He hums in response to John's ragged breathing. Then he turns to face his lover, sliding their legs together. He finds John's mouth and proceeds to snog his boyfriend. But now and then, John stops him, and Sherlock couldn't help but feel a bit annoyed. Now that his bulge was definitely evident, and as well as John's, he wouldn't let the man get away from doing something to it.

For the last time, when John stops on kissing him—he got up, sat on John's legs and held the man's face in between his hands. Sherlock grind down allowing his arse to brush on John's swell.

"Fu—Sherlock—"  
John squirms beneath him and Sherlock felt even more eager to know what's distracting his man.

"John Hamish Watson. I'm going to ask you for the last time, what the hell has gone wrong at school or I will never let you have your much awaited release."

"Alright—alright, just—lie with me love,"  
John sighs in defeat from him and Sherlock marks a line added to his imaginary scoreboard from his mind palace. He smirks.

###

The night seemed longer as Sherlock lies down with John. His boyfriend has just started talking about what happened. Sherlock couldn't believe what he had heard.

"A trial? Aren't you dismissed from the army already? And you told me the incident was just a misunderstanding?"

"Yea—I told you that. That was the initial report. The filed case was just a disciplinary action but now... I don't know. Commander Malcolm said there was a new complaint."

"Ridiculous. That was a long time ago—"

"I know." John sighs in resignation.  
"But I... I need to fix this if I still wanted to continue teaching and not loose my license."

Sherlock looks at the man who was willing to face the past that was hunting him and he felt that he couldn't love John even more and still he does.

"I'll call Mycroft—"

"What?!" John's eyes widens at him.

"No. I don't need help from you, Sherlock. Don't take this the wrong way but not now."

How painful was that?

Sherlock shook his head. "But why—"

"Because look at your business! If this reaches your investors all your hard work will be for nothing! You're already working twenty-four-seven and eight days a week and I couldn't be the one to destroy what you have built. What your parents treasured the most."

"But I want to help—"

"I know love—I know," John holds his face and kisses him deeply.

"But right now... The only solution for this matter—as we, Mike and Greg find something or who's behind this—we, the two of us—needed some time... off."

Sherlock felt he has gone deaf. But he knows that he was staring at John like the man has grown a horn.

"Sherlock? Hey..."  
John nudges him, caresses his face, his chest—but he felt cold.

"Are you hearing yourself, John?" His voice croaks and his eyes threatens to overflow with tears.

"You... You're breaking up with me?"  
He breathes, or he tried. He couldn't breathe. His chest felt heavy and his tears starts to flow.

This isn't the evening he had planned for them. And he haven't told John that he was about to fly to France two days prior, for the signing of an exclusive contract. Finally, he made a successful deal and the family business will be saved. They should be celebrating, instead... This..

"Sherlock—" John starts.

"Why are you doing this? Don't you love me anymore?"

Sherlock's eyes wells with tears and John was already hugging him tight.

"I love you, I love you, I love you so much—Don't think for one second that I don't. You are my life, Sherlock. You're my everything. Please understand me. Trust me, love. I couldn't be the one to destroy yours. Everything you've worked hard for all your life. We can do this right? Together?"

He tries to answer but he couldn't. John whispers 'I love you' over and over again, but his heart hurts so bad even that—he couldn't say. And he wonders if all of the trials they've been through truly strengthened them. Or it just widened the rip in between them.

That night, when John made love to him, he knew it'll be unforgettable. Sherlock tried hard to reciprocate the weight of John's love for him. But everytime he thought how deep it could be, he couldn't par with it. John just love him so much that the man was willing to sacrifice a relationship just so his boyfriend's life wouldn't be ruined. No matter how much it breaks him.

But Sherlock also knew that he will never love any other like he loves John. Every single mark, every touch, every level of pain and pleasure and safety John made him feel. He knew he'll carry that memory, wherever he'll go, and until they meet again.

•••••

When Sherlock woke up the next morning, John was gone.

 


	18. Chapter 18

  
Sherlock sat alone in the high stool nursing the third pint of beer on hand. If his assistant was there, Irene would definitely be angry. Good thing he made her busy re-scheduling his appointments. Smoke, smell of sex, and the loud music from the speakers made his head dizzy and aching. He didn't even thought where he was. He just wanted to wind up and stop himself from thinking too much. Hence, why he was there inside an unknown pub. He chugs down the liquid letting its bitterness take away the feeling of pain inside him. His stomach churns and the noisy surrounding didn't help.

Two months had passed. No calls, no texts, no e-mails from John.

So much for " _We can do this together,"_  for " _Trust me."_

He's lost John. That's for sure.

 _How could you lost someone that you never really had?_ Says the voice inside him.

He closed his eyes to shut down himself from the world. He retreated to the depths of his mind thinking only of the one person that he missed the most.

_John..._

He imagined John coming for him, taking him away from that dreadful place. Going home in the safety of their bedroom, whispering words of love and sweet-nothings. Making love with him until the dawn greets the sun.  
He imagined that when he opened his eyes, John would be standing there by the bar's door.

So he did, but it wasn't John who was there, it's Ivan. The chef is now walking towards him.

"That's enough." Ivan's voice wasn't loud but he heard it still over the noise, firm but less commanding, more of tired. He looked away when the man nears him. A hand reaches out on the pint he was holding, prying it away from his hand. For some reason, Sherlock allowed it.

"Do you think drowning yourself from alcohol will help you get back to John?"  
Ivan asks, Sherlock didn't answer. The man sits on the stool beside him with a heavy sigh.

"Sherlock, we've been through this."

"Leave me alone. I don't need you!"  
He snaps at the man. Sherlock tries to stand up but his legs denies him. Ivan grabs him by the waist and Sherlock too weak from alcohol to protest, puts his hands in between them. It was all he could do to prevent himself from snuggling into the man's warmth. No he wouldn't do that. He just needs John and John alone.

"I beg of you, Sherlock. This plan that my mother had offered to you..." Ivan trails off and Sherlock knew what the man just meant. The untraditional plan (for him) that could save their business. An _arrange marriage_ that he's forced to accept. But Sherlock is no idiot. He knows a scheme when it's laid in front of him. He just hadn't found out what it was. Something about Morgana and Ivan's secret glances to one another gave them away that afternoon in France. The three of them signed the contract with the majority of the board of sponsors in favour of the merging. His parents was there as well but that's the length of what they know. The marriage was a blur to them. The decision Sherlock made will benefit them and not him.

When Morgana told him in person how his marriage to Ivan could effect not just their lives but also of those who works for them, he already made up his mind. He just felt sad that he thought it'd be with John that he wil celebrate. In the end, one cannot really choose their own hapiness. So Sherlock just focused on the most important thing. Their family business will survive. Their employers will never have to lose their jobs. A chain reaction. And him? Well... he'll have a husband. He could... learn to live with Ivan and be happy with him. He could try... But his heart, he could never give. Not to anyone. Because John already has it.

He saw a movement on his right side that made him snarl. "Don't touch me."

"Alright—suit yourself." In the corner of his eye, he saw Ivan's hands in the air. Heard Ivan gave a defeated sigh and with a disappointed shake of his head, walked out of the pub.

_Good. Much better. I want a night for myself alone before you and your manipulative mother proceeds with the evil plans._

Sherlock groans in his seat. God, how he misses John. He wouldn't allow this to happen. But in second thought, John not being here was the reason this is happening. Funny, how the reason of someone's happiness could also be the reason of sadness.

At some point, in the stretch of the night, the bartender across him asks for his phone. And the guy kept on talking and talking, asking if he have someone to fetch him. Mindlessly, he takes his phone from his coat pocket and tosses it on the hands of the bartender murmuring instructions of punching speed dial directs to his assistant. Some minutes later his phone is back in his hands once again.

Sherlock never counted the seconds or minutes that had passed. He just lazily slumps on the bar stool, drunk, tired and sleepy. If Irene finds him, she'd be disappointed as well. His secretary acts like a mother hen.

"Sir?"

A voice from above him calls introducing himself as a valet? A waiter? The manager? But Sherlock doesn't care. The hell he cared. He wants another drink. But as he was about to stand, the world tilts on its axis making him sway. Just then a pair of strong hands grabs him from behind grounding him into place. A murmur over his head catches his ears.

"Stop giving him alcohol. Don't you see what has become of him?"

"We apologise, Sir. We do wanted him to stop."

_Sir? Irene's... not a Sir..._

Sherlock giggles as he asks for another drink but the one holding him wouldn't allow it.

Despite his alcohol-induced mind Sherlock manages to grumble like a child. He runs a hand over his face as he battle the alcohol kicking in. He sways and leans back even more closer to the solid warmth behind him. His head lolling to his side.

"That's it. I'll take you home." The familiar voice behind him says in a fierce tone.

"No... I—I can go on my own.." He replies groggily.

There's a shuffle, some whispers, feet scraping on the floor, doors opening and closing, the sound of traffic, the smell of night air. Sherlock then feels himself being manhandled inside a car. When his knees buckles up once again the man huffs behind him, "Yeah? That what you call, _you can go home?_ I don't think so—you can't even— _come on,_ Sherlock— _stand_."

Sherlock almost stumbles face first on the car's window but then he feels hands gripping on his waist. Firm but careful. He thought instantly of John.

"John... _John_ you came..." He murmurs, and Sherlock with his heart aching felt the tears in his eyes as he heard the voice answers him back in a soothing low voice. Sherlock felt he's going delirious.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" John says in a gentle voice that made Sherlock curl his fingers to the collars of John's jacket.

The press of a hand on the small of his back and over his curls helping him inside the car made Sherlock feel pampered. The night wind mixed with the smell of the man craddling him, was of cinnamon bars, mint, and Earl Grey tea. His favourite smell.

And only one person smells like this.

Sherlock cracks one eye open to find the worried look of John Watson peering down on him. With a sigh of relief, he passes out snuggling on that familiar warmth he would suffer for to feel over and over again.

 ••••••••••

  
John kicks a small rock that accidentally brushes with his shoes out of frustration. It ends up under a parked car.  
He surveys the flashing neon lights along the streets and realised that he's in... _Marylebone_?

 _Shit_. He had walked this long? No wonder his leg calls for attention right now. Approximately two hours ago, John was sitting comfortably in his chair after class, when Leila came rushing in delivering a cream coloured envelope addressed to him. It was from the Sunny March' legal division. With a heavy sigh he opened the letter and confirmed his nightmares.

Sunny March' board of directors suspended him from teaching until further notice.

The instant he read it, his thoughts lead him to Sherlock. If they are still together, the man would've never allowed this to happen. He would find a way to reverse this decision. But even so, John would refuse his help. He has faced legal terms before with Harry and Mike. It went well. This case that the Lieutenant mentioned was dismissed in court. From sexual harassment it was lowered to acts of lasciviousness earning John dismissal from his post. John shut his eyes pinching the bridge of his nose, if there's one thing he regret that night he was caught on top of that young recruit—it was indulging himself too much of alcohol. But bloody hell, he needed one himself right now.

Now, seeing the case unfold before his eyes once again, made him feel as if he's being caved in. That dome of anxiety he had struggled to crawled out from is welcoming him once again.

John curses audibly as his mobile vibrates all of a sudden. Someone is calling, probably from Sunny March. He left his things in the school when he decided to walk to ease the tension off his body. He pulls out his phone from his pocket and stares at the screen.

 _Sherlock_.

Panic slams on John's chest. Why would Sherlock call? A mixture of feelings dawned over him. But he strongly felt longing. He missed the man so much. The night when he left after making sure Sherlock was asleep he had forced himself to move. Seeing Sherlock lying in their bed, sprawled naked under sheets; the moonlight seeping from the window drapes his lover in ethereal white. He just wanted to crawl back to him. To feel the man's warmth against him. But no, he didn't. God knows how Sherlock hated him now after their glorious lovemaking and then he left.

John draws a breath and composes himself then clears his throat and answers. A different voice greets him from the other line—a _guy_? A pang of jealousy stirs inside him. But before John could snap at the man the said person introduces himself as a bartender from the bar where Sherlock was currently drowning himself from alcohol. John rolls his eyes involuntarily. He knew Sherlock's low tolerance. The bartender gives the address and John hails a cab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear subscribers and silent readers! I sincerely apologise for the late update. If you follow me on Twitter, you'll know why it took so long. But if not then, my messed up anxiety attacks prevented me from writing fluff hence I delved once again in the world of writing Major Character Death to free myself from the strains of depression. Thank you so much for being patient AND I will try to update weekly because I'd probably take a break from writing for a while and making book covers. Anyway, thank you so much once again for the continuous support! I do hope I'll be able to finish this work soon. 
> 
> 💕


	19. Chapter 19

  
When the cab arrived in front of Nana Emma's flat, John hauled Sherlock to his feet balancing the man while his other hand reached out for the doorbell. Nana opens the door with a worried look. And John was just thankful that Nana didn't ask. Maybe she knew what's going on about them. After all, this is the first time that she had seen John again unlike before, he and Sherlock were inseparable.

At this point, John really believes himself as a coward. He just couldn't _stay_. Nana Emma had asked him to, but he refused. The good old lady gave him a sad look, after tucking Sherlock to bed. He could've driven the man to Sussex, but when Nana mentions about Sherlock's engagement to a certain bigtime Chef, he thought otherwise. If it surprised John that after five months of being in a relationship with Sherlock and then two months of being estranged to one another and then Sherlock suddenly has someone to be engaged of, John hid his surprise really well. He knew Sherlock had to draw his last card. But still, John couldn't help but feel the regret eating him inside.

Nana Emma has shown him earlier, the publicity stills of Chef Ivan Trevor Lefebvre's and William Sherlock Scott Holmes' marriage published in a business entertainment magazine. It also includes an article about the merging of the two companies: Holmes' and Lefebvre's—two of the top restaurant business in Europe and soon conquering the world. He can't give that to Sherlock. He's just a scandalous soldier dismissed from the army and clearly not worthy of someone like Sherlock.

John closes his eyes and leans down giving Sherlock's forehead a light kiss. With a final caress on Sherlock's curls, he says his goodbye to Nana. Nana Emma hugs him while murmuring comforting words. He nodded and was about to take the stairs when he saw Collin by the door of his room.

John smiles at him but Collin returns it with a cold smug look. The kid turns on his back and shuts the bedroom door with a loud thud Sherlock would be proud of. John glances at Nana Emma, but the lady had already gone back to nurse Sherlock.

And with the feeling of the world crashing down on him, John left once again.

-

The streets are already empty when John began his own vigil by walking. He thought of the things that would've happened if he hadn't given up on Sherlock Holmes. Funnily enough, he couldn't think of anything that doesn't result with both of them ending in the slums. Sure, Sherlock can find a new job, his parents would've helped them settle down. There's Nana also, who'd be willing to lend a hand. And to his side, there's Mike, but John's having second thoughts. Apparently, he's really unlucky with finding a job and staying in the said job.

He thought of going back to general practice. Maybe there would still be clinics out there that would accept him. And then there's Harry, (Yeah if that's likely gonna happen) the last time he talked to his sister about him leaving Sherlock, Harriet slammed the phone receiver and had never contacted him ever since. But Mike says they are still in touch and that her sister was just totally pissed off.

John spent the rest of the night walking and sitting on park benches. Then he decided to go home on foot. He was so lost in his thought that he didn't notice the tall figure standing in front of his flat's door. That—until he bumped on the figure's shoulder.

John curses in his mind and his mouth. "Bloody fucking he—"

"Language." Says the voice of a... _woman?_

John raises an eyebrow as he caresses his forehead that has bumped with the woman's shoulder. Jesus, if not all of the men and women around here reminds him of Sherlock. John almost groans. He hasn't slept and for god's sake, the last thing he wanted to encounter was a Sherlock-double or look-a-like. The woman was wearing a black coat over a cream jumper, blue jeans and black boots that make her look like a model and a white scarf around her neck. Her hair was a long wavy dark velvet and her eyes shine of deep green. John thought her lips glisten from gloss but it could be a trick of the light from the lamp posts.

The woman speaks again but this time the language was different. Nothing new to John. Clearly, the woman was Spanish and she might've seen the frown and confusion in John's face that she laughed.

John thought the laugh was beautiful. She was beautiful. And something inside him stirs once again. It has been a long time since he had encountered a woman that made his insides flutter.

He clears his throat and does his best not to blush. The woman was saying 'Hello' in Spanish earlier. Sherlock thought him of some basic greetings before when they went to Madrid for a vacation. At the thought of Sherlock, he knew his confused expression transforms into a helpless and heartbroken when the woman mirrors him as well.

"I'm sorry. Have I reminded you of someone?" The woman asks.

_Get a grip, Watson._

John gave a half-hearted smile. "No. I... actually—I don't have a girlfriend."

The woman regarded him with a look that John felt he was being stripped naked. As if her eyes see beyond his soul. And then her expression turns to an amused one.

After a minute she speaks again. "Mm... boyfriend then?" She asks that left John speechless.

_Was his bisexuality that obvious?_

He thought of denying but what for? It's not like he still has a reputation to protect. At this point, losing Sherlock to another man was the final straw. What else could he lose?

John thought of asking what gave him away caught himself otherwise.  
"Uh. No. I—We're .. err... sort of in a cool-off situation."

"Ah..." The woman nods. "I see."  
"My name's Cassandra Santiago. You can call me Cassie." Cassie offers a hand and John accepts it. He gives it a gentle squeeze that made Cassie smile.

"Pleased to meet you, Cassie. I'm John. John Watson..." He hesitates on the line he'll say but he's sure as hell confident about it. "Say... have you... had dinner?" He asks. When Cassie smiled at him again, John thought he would do anything to see that beautiful smile. It's brought him relief and distraction.

"Alright," Cassie replies after a while and starts walking on the other side of the road. "I know a restaurant." She continues. John catching up behind her. "And they say that their Chef makes the most delicious pasta ever—"

That made John stop on his tracks.

"—that it tastes like heaven."  
Cassie winks at him and crosses the road towards the establishment with a cozy indoor setting as John observes from where he was standing. It was a restaurant, okay.

_The Lefebvre's._

—

John thought the universe was playing tricks with him. He thought, what a _lazy_ universe the world was in. No. What a _jackass_ universe he was in. He crosses the road and follows the number of guests, customers that could barely make their way inside the restaurant when he realised that Cassie wasn't behind him.

He looks around and finds her observing from a lamp post. Bullshit. He's not going inside alone. He knows who owns that fucking restaurant. He huffs a breath and wills himself not to get mad at the woman he just met. He's about to ask if something was wrong when he sees her expression. Cassie's eyes are clouded with sadness and longing while staring at the restaurant. John follows the way she was looking and finds the centre of her attention.

It was the Ivan-guy. A chef that is. And Sherlock's fiancé.

 _Why would Cassie look at Ivan that way?_ John shakes his head hoping to clear his thoughts of everything.

 _This night was full of hesitations and fucked up decisions._ John thought.

He hesitates once again but in the end, John stands beside Cassie and nudges her elbow with his.

"Hey..." He says softly.

Cassie's facial expression turns blank as she regarded him. Far away from that lovesick look earlier. Then Cassie catches his gaze. It was full of intensity and heavy with something else.

"John... I'm—I'm afraid I'm not hungry anymore." She says, and John swallows from an empty throat.

"Err.. Alright?" He unconsciously bites his lower lip. "Is there anywhere you wanted to go to or... do you want to.."

 _What exactly are you offering, Watson?_ His mind asks.

  
_I don't know. Jesus. I don't know._  
His conscience answers.

 _Oh you know. Alright._  
His mind says again and his body hums in agreement.

John closes his eyes taking a deep breath. But before he could open them, he feels a hot breath and warm lips grazing his ear. "Take me home?" says the sultry voice of the woman standing beside him. Heat surges inside him as his body responded when he turns sideways. Cassie's face was so near that John could easily lean and forget about the pain.m of losing Sherlock. He could forget about... Just then, a flash of Sherlock's smiling face with eyes looking at him filled with love and the pang of betrayal hits him. He shakes his head. He sees Cassie in his peripheral vision took a step back. When he realises what he did he never felt an ounce of regret. No. He couldn't betray Sherlock. He'd rather die. He braves a look at Cassie once again and finds relief as the woman was smiling at him. He was worried he did something that Cassie thought she was lead on.

"I guess we can continue our date some other time?—As friends?"

Cassie asks after some time in which John finds himself nodding.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course."

She beams another smile at him while she takes John's right hand and threads their fingers.

"I'm still serious about you—taking me home though. I'm renting a flat not far from here." She says in a playful voice.

John chuckles. "Alright. I guess, that I can do."

They walk matching each other's strides as the restaurant fades into view.

Meanwhile, from the other side of the road, flashes of camera blind the passersby as it takes pictures of the two people walking hand in hand and laughing in their conversation.

••••••••••

Satisfied and grinning slyly with what he caught on camera. With the thought of the huge money, he'll receive after he surrenders the photos to a certain woman with the initials M. L., papp photographer Steven Howards didn't take notice of the black sleek car parked behind his old Toyota corolla '86.

The door of the black car opens and two men wearing black glasses and dressed in black suits walk out and pries open the doors of his car.

Mr. Howards stumbles to his feet as he was dragged outside his car and taken to the limousine.

The black tinted window of the limousine opens revealing a man in a bespoke gray suit twirling the tip of his umbrella on the carpeted floor.

"A pleasant evening, Mr. Howard."  
The man greets with an icy smile.

"Who—W-Who are you?! What d-do you want from m-me?!"  
He slumps on the car seat as the men throw him inside next to the bespoke man in a suit.

"I'm afraid you have no right to know my name. Anyway, it wasn't me who needed you as an audience." The man replies blandly.

"W-Who then? W-Who?! Talk or I'll call the p-police!"

The man laughed coldly. "Oh please. A former British Army General just wanted a chat with you."

"W-Who?" He breathes.

A different black limousine parks across them and Mr. Howard was then yanked out of the car to the next. The door of the car opens and the man in the suit leans to see its lone passenger.

"Good evening, General Holmes." The man greets.

The General nods from the other car and the photographer were then shut inside. After a few arguing inside the other car, the window from the man's side opens and a Nikon Digital SLR was thrown in his hands.

"Burn that." A deep baritone voice firmly orders from the other car.

The man looks sideways and nods.

"Certainly." He replies.

Then the second limousine with the photographer lurches forward rounds the corner of a street.

Mycroft Holmes smiles with the camera at hand as his own car takes a turn on the other side of the street and disappears.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't say anything else except... this ain't what I intend to happen! (Not the flirting!John I say)

**Author's Note:**

> —THIS is the very first "fluff" I've written or there's a slice of fluff. Dear God, kudos to those who write fluff like breathing. For someone who's an alien to the word 'happiness'—this is all I can offer. Trying my hand on something different for my usual work. Thank you for all of the cheers!
> 
> This is for @bottomjohns on Twitter, because the main idea came from them.  
> And for Alice @smollsherl, a constant pillar of support.
> 
> Thanks for dropping by. Grateful for all of the kudos, comments and bookmarks in all of my works. Never expected them. Thank you.


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